In Loco Parentis
by The Hope Lions
Summary: Hermione Granger doesn't know why she was sent back to 1992, but she's not going to waste this second chance. Even the Chosen One needs some responsible adults on his side. After all, Harry may not know it, but he's Hermione's best friend. As she takes up the DADA post, "Jean Watson" is not going to let anything happen to him-or any of her friends for that matter.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! So I started something vaguely similar a few weeks ago, but someone made a very good point about OCs, and honestly, I like this better. I have a few chapters written, but am not entirely sure on the updating schedule. It will be at least weekly though. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own six copies of Sorcerer's Stone, but not Harry himself

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Chapter 1

The Great Hall was filled with ghosts, but not the ordinary kind. No, these were the worst kind of ghosts. They walked, talked, _breathed_. Nevertheless, they were ghosts. They were Hermione's ghosts.

The flash of a camera drew her eyes to the mess of unsorted first years. Colin Creevey was capturing everything he saw. She found it suddenly hard to breathe; he was so _small_. Colin had been underage when he'd died, just a few weeks shy of seventeen. But at least he hadn't looked young. Now he just looked tiny, so tiny she could almost forget they were the same person. But only almost.

Albus Dumbledore sat decked in purple robes, glistening eyes beneath his half-moon glasses. She'd spoken to him often enough the past few weeks that, usually, she could forget the image of his crumpled body. But as he chatted with his murderer—_was it still murder if you asked for it?_ —As he chatted idley with his murderer, Hermione couldn't forget his empty eyes, or the secrets his twinkling gaze hid.

And then there was the murderer himself— Severus Snape, the man she'd never quite forgiven, and never quite hated either. He was being right foul at the moment, sneering at the Gryffindor table and the obvious space next to a certain bushy haired girl.

But that girl, that girl was the worst ghost of all, because Hermione knew her. She knew her every thought, her every word, and yet, Hermione had never felt further from someone in her life. That girl, that child, was Hermione Granger, but she wasn't _Hermione_. She wasn't eating, too busy worrying about her friends, but she didn't actually know what it was to be scared. She was too young, too naïve. Too… Hermione, in her infinite vocabulary, still couldn't find the right word. Or perhaps she was simply terrified of naming whatever it was she'd lost over the years.

Professor Snape rose from his seat, no doubt going to investigate where Harry and Ron were. Hermione knew exactly how that would end, and hesitated. A part of her was desperate to go with him, to snatch up the opportunity to see her husband and best friend for the first time in a month. But she knew it was a terrible idea. The two children attempting rather disastrously to sneak into the feast late were not her husband and friend. They were children, just children, and while Hermione couldn't help but love them desperately, she knew it was best to accept from the start that she'd never see her husband and friend again. It would be odd for the new Defense Against the Arts professor to go chase down two students she hadn't met yet. Especially with the memory of Voldemort invading the school through her predecessor so fresh in everyone's minds.

Never mind that Dumbledore was already suspicious of the witch who'd appeared out of nowhere hours before he'd given the position to Lockheart. If she wanted to accomplish anything—and Hermione always wanted to accomplish a great deal—she needed to have patience. She could meet Harry and Ron the same time she met all her other students. Then her work could begin.

* * *

Harry and Draco had been fighting, Hermione knew it the moment they got to class. Perhaps she just knew her best friend too well, or maybe it had something to do with the Slytherin muttering about 'filthy half-bloods, blood traitors, and Mudbloods'.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. And a detention with me tonight." she snapped, though it wasn't as satisfying as she might have expected. Maybe it was because Draco was so young. Even after the war, Hermione had never forgiven the bully. He'd stood back while Bellatrix tortured her. How could anyone listen to her screams and do nothing, scared or not? Maybe he'd deserved to go free, but he hadn't deserved forgiveness. Especially when he'd never asked for it.

But this wasn't that cruel and self-serving man she'd known in 2005. This was a child who'd been taught awful things his whole life. It almost made Hermione feel bad for him, though, admittedly, saving Draco Malfoy from his own prejudices wasn't high on her list of things to change. Especially when he gaped at her.

"You can't do that!"

Now, perhaps, she felt the slightest bit of satisfaction. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I can. I will not tolerate slurs in my classroom, is that understood? And that goes for all of you as well."

She resisted the temptation to look only at the Slytherins. It only really applied to them, but Jean Watson had never attended Hogwarts. She wasn't supposed to be biased towards any one house or another. And even if Hermione knew that would be difficult, she thought it was probably for the best. She'd never expected to become a teacher. (Much like she'd never expected to fall twelve years back in time). Still, now that she was a teacher, her pedagogical philosophy could be summed up simply—If Umbridge or Snape did it, she wouldn't. And Snape's blatant bias towards his own house was a known fact.

And besides, the Gryffindor's didn't seem upset by her accusing gaze. They actually seemed impressed. Young Hermione was beaming, and Harry and Ron exchanged a not-at-all-subtle look of awe. Neville looked a bit peachy, but Hermione hoped she'd be able to earn his trust soon enough. After all, helping Neville Longbottom realize his potential years earlier _was_ high on her list of priorities. He deserved it more than anyone.

Hermione smiled to herself, then took a deep breathe. The whole situation was so strange, wrong in so many ways it almost felt right. And now there was nothing left to do but what she'd come there for.

"Well, that was not how I'd intended to start our year, but I hope you'll all agree it was necessary... Now to start. You are here to learn how to defend yourselves from the Dark Arts, and do you know why?"

Young Hermione's hand shot into the air, and her older self cringed internally. Merlin's Beard, she'd been a bit atrocious. The rhetorical nature of such a question should have been obvious.

Hermione—Professor Watson—would have pretended not to notice and just carried on, but then few of the other students snickered. Suddenly, an old wound she'd thought was long healed had reopened and shamed burned in her breast. No, not shame. Her younger self hadn't actually done anything wrong. It was embarrassment, the kind of horror that came from knowing you'd once-again misread the situation in your eagerness to be good. And Professor Watson didn't have it in her to let the lesson be learned in this way. She just didn't.

"Yes, Miss Granger, is it not?"

If Hermione found it odd that her new professor already knew her name, she didn't give any sign. Instead, she answered brightly, "We need to be able to defend ourselves because the world is dangerous."

Professor Watson smiled. Lucky they really were the same person, because Hermione had just read her mind.

"Exactly, Miss Granger," she replied, though she resisted the temptation to offer points. "You need to be able to defend yourselves because the world is dangerous. And, ideally, you'll never be in a situation where you need to use what I've taught you, but you might be. Besides, you'd be amazed by how many every-day uses defensive spells can have. For example—_expecto patronum_!"

A silver terrier burst from her wand, stopping Hermione's heart. She hadn't tried to cast the charm since going back, but she would never have expected it to have changed form so radically. Grief threatened to overwhelm her, and the patronus began to fade, but then her gaze fell to Ron. He wasn't her husband, and never would be now. Still, she loved him, had loved him, even at this age. And that love spurred on the patronus, until the dog was lively enough to dash around the room.

A number of the students gaped, and Lavender Brown gasped, "I want to pet it!"

"Unfortunately, Miss Brown, that isn't possible. However, who can tell me what a patronus charm can do. Does anyone know?"

Hermione didn't raise her hand, and she was frowning, clearly upset by her lack of knowledge. Instead, it was Theodore Nott who raised his hand. Professor Watson was a bit surprised, having never really paid the boy much mind while still at school, but called on him anyway, "Yes, Mr. Nott."

"They ward off dementors, don't they?"

It hurt her a bit to do, but Professor Watson fought away the desire to be spiteful, "Yes indeed. One point to Slytherin. They also would work against a lethifold."

She noticed a few blank faces among the muggle-born students, and even Ron, so she added, "Those both being dark creatures. You can find more about them in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them_. Now, though, I'm wondering if anyone knows or can think of other uses for the patronus, something that is not inherently defensive, but could nevertheless be useful."

There was a lot of blank looks, which Professor Watson found a bit frustrating. Finally, though, Harry raised his hand. "Uh, well you could use it as a light, couldn't you?"

A bunch of students sniggered, and Malfoy hissed, "Scared of the dark, Potter?"

"Five more points, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Watson chided. "I won't tolerate bullying either. And, for the record, Harry is correct, so, one point to Gryffindor. Of course a lumos charm would likely be easier than a patronus for creating light, but it is a valid non-defensive use. Can anyone think of another?"

Neville hesitantly raised his hand, so nervous his arm seemed to shape. Professor Watson, and everyone for that matter seemed surprise, but the professor beamed, "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"They can send messages, can't they? I think my gran received one once."

Professor Watson couldn't have been prouder if Neville was her own child. She could hardly remember him ever willingly answering a question in anything but herbology. But good on him. "Yes, exactly. Patronus charms can carry messages far faster than an owl, and have the added benefit of being impossible to intercept. One more point to Gryffindor."

"My point, then, is clear. I hope you all learn a great deal in this class so you can defend yourself should it be necessary, but even if it isn't, I hope you all work hard because defensive spells can be as useful as you let them to be. Now, as my predecessor was more apt to practice the dark arts than to teach, we're going to begin with a short refresher."

Quite frankly, she wasn't sure what they were supposed to know. Hermione's own education had been so lacking in defense, each professor taking their own spin, that she wasn't even sure there was a curriculum. Still, when she thought about her best Defense teacher, it wasn't Lupin that came to mind. No, it was Harry, and if there was one spell they needed to know…

"Everyone stand up and find a partner," she ordered, waving her wand. The furniture began to move even before the students had finished getting up, which put a fire under most of them. Soon enough, the classroom was cleared and everyone had formed two different groups.

"This is so exciting. We've never had a practical defense class before," Professor Watson heard her younger self mutter. It wasn't just her though. Even the Slytherins looked begrudgingly excited. All except for Draco who was too busy smarting over the lost points and detentions, that is.

"Alright, everyone copy after me, it's not a difficult wand movement," Professor Watson began, waiting until they all more-or-less had it down. Then she added on. "Now, the incantation is ex-Pel-lee-ar-muss, and what will happen depends on how much power and intent you put in. Ideally, the spell just knocks the wand out of your opponent's hand, but if you're not focused you can send them flying. And while that may seem preferable, it's no good tossing someone across the room if you don't manage to get their wand off them. So, everyone have a partner?"

As an afterthought, she conjured padding for the floor. Then, Professor Watson said, "Alright, everyone get to work and I'll be walking around to help. If you need me before I get to you just flag me down."

Her students seemed a bit flustered to be left to their own devices, and for a moment, Hermione wondered if this was a bad idea. They were only second years, after all. It was difficult to remember back that far, but Hermione knew they certainly hadn't done much practical work in Lockheart's class—not after the pixies, at least. Was it safe to let them practice like this, or was she being utterly irresponsible?

It was hard not to worry, but as she began her rounds, none of the students seemed to be endangering one-another. It probably helped that she'd let them pick their partners instead of paring them up. House rivalries only made practical lessons dangerous. Still, the worst that she noticed was students struggling. Even during the DA, Neville had struggled with the spell, so Professor Watson wasn't surprised to find him looking nervous. Luckily he'd partnered up with Hermione, who, admittedly, picked up the spell quickly, but was controlled enough in her actions not to send Neville flying.

Whack! Professor Watson cringed as Ron went flying across the room, landing in a pile of Slytherin girls. They laughed hysterically, and the boy's face turned as red as his hair. Both Hermione's and Harry dashed over to see if he was alright, but luckily, he'd landed on one of the mats.

"You might want to see Madame Pomfrey for a Bruise Potion," Professor Watson suggested, offering him a hand up. "And Harry, you'll want to focus more on your intent while casting so it doesn't just throw him about."

Harry didn't say anything, but Hermione piped up, "Actually Professor, Harry wasn't the one casting. It was Ron's spell that rebounded. His wand's all broken, see?"

Professor Watson did see, and she sighed. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Ron had spent his entire second year with the Spellotaped wand, and it had caused no number of problems. Hermione flushed a bit as she remembered one incident in particular; Ron had only spent hours vomiting slugs because he'd defended her. It made her heart ache for her husband and their love, but she pushed it aside. This Ron was cute in the way any red-haired, freckled-faced, twelve-year-old boy was cute. But he certainly wasn't her husband, and honestly, that wasn't very difficult for Hermione—for Jean Watson—to accept.

"Well, then, perhaps we need to look into getting you a replacement wand," Jean cautiously suggested. She knew, of course, that the Weasleys couldn't afford a new wand for Ron. Still, it was no wonder he'd struggled to learn when he didn't have a functioning wand. Actually, the same thing could even go for Neville. If she remembered right, he was using his dad's old wand, clearly a poor fit. (And Neville didn't even have the excuse of poverty; it was just Augusta's own baggage which brought her grandson down.)

"But in the meantime, just practice the movements and incantation with a quill. And you, Harry? How are you finding this spell?"

"I haven't tried yet, Professor," he admitted with a shrug. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be any good, which she just found amusing. How could she not, though? In just a few short years he'd use the spell to defeat Voldemort himself—though not if Hermione succeeded in changing the future.

"Well, as we're now down a partner you can try it on me. No need to look nervous, just on the count of three focus on my wand and cast. One, two, three."

"Expelliarmus!" Harry chanted, and without fail Professor Watson's wand went flying. It hadn't been perfectly done. If she'd wanted to, she could have blocked it easily. Still, it was impressive for a first try, and she had to admit that Harry was talented at defense. When she was younger, that had made Hermione burn with jealousy, and even then, she could see a flash of annoyance pass over her younger self. But it was true. Harry was actually quite a powerful wizard and defense had been for a long time the key to his survival. If Hermione did manage to protect him from Voldemort, would she ruin that? There was a part of her that was scared she would. What if by taking away the ax hanging over their heads, Hermione somehow managed to make them learn less? It would be a shame.

_I won't let it happen. I'll protect Harry, but I'll help him as well. Maybe with a proper teacher he can be even better this time around, _she promised. And besides, no doubt her younger self would be keen to join in on any extra lessons. Hermione had always resented how much she'd never learned, and maybe if she taught her younger self along with Harry, maybe that would be almost like getting the chance to do it again.

Content in her decision, Professor Watson went back to correcting different students' form. Before she even knew it, the lesson was over and the second years filtered out and her NEWT students filtered in. Teaching them was even more nerve-wracking than teaching the younger students, mostly because Hermione worried she wasn't actually good enough. But even they seemed to enjoy her lesson on countering wandless spells. When the first day of classes was finally finished, Professor Watson retreated to her rooms surprisingly content with everything she'd accomplished.

* * *

But Hermione Granger, even as Jean Watson, was not about to rest on her laurels. For the first time, she was almost confident in her ability to get through the teaching portion of her job, but she hadn't actually returned to Hogwarts to be a teacher. No, she'd come for an entirely different reason, and she wasn't about to delay.

"Miss Weasley, may I have a moment," Professor Watson asked the first year right before dinner. Of all her friends, Ginny was the youngest, and it was downright strange to see the powerful and confident woman she'd known as a giddy and naïve child. Still, she was getting better at not brooding on all that once was, and focused instead on the task.

Ginny, for her part, looked nervous. Unsurprising. If one of Hermione's professors had asked to speak with her in private on her first day at Hogwarts, Hermione might have cried. Even if she'd done nothing at all wrong she would have been convinced she was about to be expelled. Especially because the first-year Gryffindors hadn't even had Defense yet. So Ginny had plenty of reasons to be nervous. Therefore Hermione tried to look as open and friendly as possible, even if she knew her smile probably resembled more of a grimace.

Still, Ginny followed her, and that was all that mattered. Professor Watson led the girl into one of Hogwarts's many unused classrooms, and then got down to business. Dancing around the matter would only make Ginny more nervous.

"Have a seat, Miss Weasley," she told the girl. Then she climbed up on the desk next to it, which probably seemed like an odd thing for a teacher to do. But it was odd enough that it helped Ginny relax, which was the goal.

"Professor, have I done something wrong?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, or, at least, I don't believe you have done anything wrong intentionally. But I need you to be honest with me. It has come to my attention—and don't ask me for my source—but it has come to my attention that you've found yourself in possession of a rather dangerous magical artifact. Do you have the diary on you now?"

Shock, fear, and disappointment waged a war on Ginny's face, but finally, she nodded and grabbed it from her bookbag. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she laid eyes on the horcrux. It looked so ordinary. So harmless. Who could blame poor Ginny for getting enamored?

"I didn't steal it, I swear. I just found it in my books. Is it actually dangerous? I thought it was fun."

Ginny looked so defeated, it made Hermione feel terrible. Even if the Professor knew logically how much trouble she was saving the girl, and the school, Ginny didn't. All Ginny knew was she'd been scolded first day and had her fun new toy taken away from her.

So Hermione figured she owed her honesty, and besides, when had teachers lying to her ever worked out? "Yes, Miss Weasley, it is. The spell upon this diary allows a person to preserve a part of themselves, much like a portrait would, but unlike a portrait, this memory isn't content as it is. It's like a dementor, feeding on your soul to increase its own power. In the end, it would kill you."

_And bring back Voldemort in the process, _she thought, but left out. Ginny was so young, there really was no point in terrifying her. Already the girl looked properly rebuked and Hermione had no intention of making it worse.

"Professor, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I just found it… I guess I was a bit stupid. My dad always says not to trust things if you can't see where they keep their brain."

Hermione wondered how, exactly, Arthur Weasley's astute observation applied to his own flying car, but didn't comment. Instead she reached out, squeezing Ginny's shoulder. "I'm not angry, I promise. I'm just glad that you haven't already fallen under its spell. Five points to Gryffindor for being honest with me. You can head to dinner now."

Ginny nodded, standing and grabbing her stuff. But then she hesitated for a moment, and when she spoke, Hermione could see some of her lost friend's spirit. "Professor, someone should probably tell Flourish and Blotts their books have cursed artifacts in them. That doesn't exactly seem legal to me."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed. Ginny was young, but she wasn't stupid. "No, it's definitely not legal, and I promise you I'll look into it. Now go, enjoy dinner. And, if you don't mind, try not to tell anyone about this diary, alright? I know it may seem like an exciting story, but you and I both know that your brothers might find the idea of a talking diary irresistible. Lead us not into temptation and the such."

Ginny obviously didn't know the Lord's Prayer, but she got the sentiment and nodded. "Fred and George would think it's fun. I won't tell, Professor. And thank you. I'm glad not have had my soul sucked out."

The girl dashed off, a spring to her step. Hermione just shook her head, amazed by the resilience of children. If someone told her she'd been walking around with a cursed diary for a month, well, Hermione would have called them a liar or panicked. Probably both. But Ginny didn't question it. She just trusted the adults around her to deal with it, and ran along her way. It was an amazing thing. And it definitely made her job easier.

Now for the hard part—convincing the adults of the danger right beneath their noses. She grabbed the diary with the corner of her robes, and started towards Dumbledore's office. It was time she and the headmaster have a talk.

* * *

AN:  
I've tried to distinguish time-travel Hermione and child-Hermione the best I can, but if it's ever not clear, please let me know so I can improve it. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

I am overwhelmed by the positive reception this has received, so all I can say is THANK YOU! For the moment, my updating schedule will be post a chapter whenever I finish a chapter, so probably look for one every-other day or so. Also, if you're enjoying, or if there is anything you want to see happen, please, drop a review. I'm very amenable to people who make me happy, and reviews make me happy. At the moment, I'm trying to lock down the ships we'll see in this story, so definitely drop a review if you have a suggestion. Besides that, thank you again, and enjoy!

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Chapter 2

Professor Dumbledore was dressed rather boldly for the first day of classes. His purple robes were bejeweled with patterns of sequins, and seemed to flow lusciously around him. For the first time, Hermione idly wondered how no one had ever guessed about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. It wasn't actually important, but Dumbledore was visibly queer in every sense of the word. Perhaps they just all assumed a man his age was sexless, and he probably was, but there was more to him than just eccentricity. Sometimes, Hermione wondered if all the twinkling gazes and ludicrous comments were just meant to hide all his secrets.

But now she had secrets of her own, so she understood the desire to hide.

"Ah, Professor Watson, what brings you here so early in the term? Not already regretting the posting, I hope."

Hermione didn't obfuscate. Instead, she slapped the diary on his desk. For once Dumbledore's eyes no longer twinkled. The dark magic which laced the object was obvious; Hermione could feel the horcrux's dark tendrils reaching out to the cracks in her soul. It slithered in the holes left by the locket, by the loss of her husband, by the many years of struggle in her youth, and suddenly Hermione felt very cold. And angry. Angry in a way she didn't like. Maybe that's why she snapped, "I confiscated this from Ginny Weasley today. Do you know what it is?"

Dumbledore's finger traced Tom Riddle's name. "Not a harmless journal, I imagine. Is the girl quite alright?"

"She is, but she wouldn't have been had I not noticed her with this."

"Is it cursed?

Hermione's heart raced. Just how much could she tell him? It was suspicious enough that she'd found the diary, especially if Dumbledore realized she hadn't even had Ginny in class. Still, if Dumbledore had taught her anything, it was how useless secrets were. In the end, everything came to light, and no good decision was made from a place of ignorance.

"Not cursed, Sir. It's a horcrux."

Dumbledore jerked his hand back to his side, as if the diary had burned him. "You're certain?"

She nodded taking a deep breathe. She had to be careful, but she had to be honest, a difficult combination, "I've had the misfortune of encountering them before. I am certain. And I am also aware of just who this 'Tom Riddle' truly is."

For a moment, Dumbledore stared at the diary. Then, he shifted his gaze, staring at Hermione instead. It made her squirm. Even at twenty-five, she'd yet to extinguish the part of her that burned for praise. She'd smothered it, finding validation in her numerous accomplishments. Except now it was back, and worse than it had been in years. Maybe it had something to do with being back at Hogwarts, with being back with the Headmaster. Hermione desperately wanted him to approve of her, to respect her intelligence. Instead, Hermione got the very distinct impression that Dumbledore was judging her. _And no doubt finding me lacking, _swore the voice in her head.

Or perhaps it was the voice of the diary;Hermione liked that possibility better.

After an eternity, Dumbledore smiled, "Miss Granger, you've grown."

Hermione's heart stopped—shit. She'd never intended to reveal the truth. It was too dangerous, never mind that it would mean breaking a dozen laws. And if she had picked someone to tell, it definitely wouldn't have been _Dumbledore._ He was a genius, certainly, but she couldn't forget the games he'd played with Harry's life.

Nor could she forgive. As helpful as Dumbledore's vast knowledge might prove, Harry was the priority. Not because he was the Chosen One. If Hermione could, she'd make everyone forget about the Chosen One. No, Harry was the priority because he was her friend. Because Hermione loved him. And because he was a child, and no child deserved such a heavy fate.

But apparently none of that mattered, because Dumbledore had figured it out instantly. _Stupid girl!_ A voice in her head shouted. And this time Hermione sincerely doubted it was just the horcrux's influence. But really, it wasn't fair. Had she made it obvious? Hermione didn't think so. She'd changed her name, lightened her hair, done everything she could think of to hide the truth. And besides, who would ever look at someone and guessed 'time traveler'?

Albus Dumbledore, apparently.

So what next? Was she best off confessing and letting him take over? The childish part of her said yes. But she wasn't a child anymore, however young and unadapt she felt. She couldn't put this back in his hands; he'd screw it up. He'd ruined things for Harry once and Hermione didn't trust him not to do it all over again.

At the same time, could she convince him he was wrong either? Probably not. But she definitely couldn't admit the truth and keep control, could she? This was Albus Dumbledore, after all.

_And you're Hermione Granger, brightest witch of your age, and Harry's friend. If he can die for you, you can be strong for him. After all, it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, and a great deal more to stand up to your friends. Dumbledore is often wrong, but not always. _

"Yes I have, Professor," Hermione Granger told him, not blinking as she drew his gaze. "I don't know why I've been sent back. It wasn't anything I did. But someone, something, wants me here and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. And I'm not going to let three twelve-year-olds fight this battle, not when I can do it for them. I'd warn you not to try and stop me."

Dumbledore seemed startled by the ferocity in her voice and he balked, "My dear, what ever have I don't to make you think I would try?"

"You…" Hermione faltered. How much could she say? She'd already changed the timeline irreparably, but still, it didn't seem wise to just blab about the future. And if she told Dumbledore too much, she didn't know what he'd do with the information.

But if she didn't tell him, wasn't she doing the exact thing he'd always done? "You never trusted anyone. You never trusted _Harry_. I look at him now, and he's just a child, I know, but he doesn't… he didn't get to stay that way, Professor. He didn't stay a child. And even then, you still wouldn't tell him the truth. You never told him anything, and then you died. No, worse than that—you got yourself killed. You got yourself killed and you hadn't told us anything! Not that you'd asked Snape to kill you, not that Harry was a horcrux. _Not that we were burying you with the elder wand!_ And that, that ignorance, it protected no one."

If Dumbledore was surprised by his death or the horcrux in Harry's head, he didn't show it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, looking up as if in prayer. When he finally looked back at Hermione, there were tears in his eyes. "My dear, those deeds weren't mine, and yet I beg your forgiveness. I am certain I had only the best intentions, but you, evidently, know better than I my many faults, and I know them well. But I beg you not to doubt the faith I have in Harry, and now, it seems, in you."

Hermione almost believed him, _almost._ Time alone would tell if he could truly change. But then, time alone would tell if Hermione could change anything either.

For the moment, she could only pray she hadn't become the meddling fool she'd long hated. Her old insecurities lingered. At least Dumbledore had managed to win the war, after all. Now, everything that went wrong, every death, would be on Hermione and Hermione alone. It was too heavy a burden for anyone to bear, and yet Hermione stood tall beneath it. What other choice did she have? Harry had carried the burden once already. It was her turn now.

"There's a basilisk in the basement. We'll need its venom to destroy this horcrux—and the other four. We should probably just kill it while we're at it. Not exactly a safe thing to have in a school."

Dumbledore didn't say anything, just nodded. Perhaps he was thrown by Hermione's quick turn, or the possibility of Voldemort having split his soul into six pieces. Hermione didn't bother telling him that, in her time, it had been eight.

"There's also the part of him which possessed Quirrell. I don't know what happened to it between then and when Pettigrew resurrected him."

That got a rise out of Dumbledore. "Peter Pettigrew is dead."

Merlin's beard, Hermione had completely forgotten about Sirius. If Harry was there, he would have killed her. "Sirius is innocent. Peter was the Secret Keeper . Peter killed those muggles… I'll need to do something about that."

Dumbledore held up a hand, no doubt sensing her impending spiral. "I imagine, my dear, that there is a great deal you must deal with. But I wonder if it's wise to change too much too fast. For the moment, we have the advantage of your foreknowledge. If we lose that, I fear what may happen."

He was right, but still, it made Hermione cringe a bit. "Professor, you can't be suggesting that we leave an innocent man in Azkaban."

Dumbledore blushed bright red, clearly realizing that that was _exactly_ what he'd been suggesting. Now that she pointed it out, however, he shook his head, "Of course not. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I can best assist in this matter. We'll need Pettigrew to prove it, though. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

"He's here at Hogwarts. As Ron's rat." She felt slimy just thinking about it. Pettigrew, a grown man and murderer, had slept with Harry and Ron for three years. It was disturbing.

"The Weasleys seem to have quite a pension for finding that which had better remain lost, haven't they," Dumbledore dryly noted. It was just an offhanded comment, but it stopped Hermione in her tracks. Huh. It was odd that of all the wizarding families in the world, Pettigrew had ended up with Harry's best friend. She didn't see how it could be anything besides a coincidence, but it nagged at Hermione never-the-less.

Dumbledore misinterpreted her sudden silence, but nevertheless offered quite a wise suggestion. "By my understanding, there is no immediate threat. Perhaps you had best take the night to write down everything you recall—and everything we should hope to change. Tomorrow, we can determine how to capture Pettigrew without alerting him to our suspicions."

Hermione nodded, but didn't move. It could definitely wait and yet, it nagged at her more than anything else. "Professor Dumbledore, Sirius is going to want to adopt Harry."

Dumbledore clearly didn't like that. "Surely Harry would prefer to remain with his aunt and uncle. They are his family, after all."

Hermione shook her head, "That's the thing, Professor. They're not his family, not really. Blood doesn't make a family. The Dursleys are terrible to him. Harry _still_ won't talk about it and he hasn't seen then in eight years. Wards or not, you need to let Sirius take Harry. They'll both be happier for it—and safer too."

Shadows passed over his gaze, sure sign of just how troubled he was by everything Hermione was telling him. To his credit, though, he nodded, "We'll see. As you said, it is not a pressing matter. We'll have to free Sirius first and you'll find the Ministry can be quite reluctant to recognize embarrassing truths."

Ha. As if Hermione didn't know that _quite_ well. "Alright. As you say, it will take time, but not too much, I hope. For now, I'm going to go write my list then.

Hermione rose much lighter than she'd been upon sitting down. She was still concerned that Dumbledore's meddling might make things worse, but it was nice to share the weight. Hermione was a leader of sorts, but it was nice not having to be.

"Just one more thing, Professor Watson," Dumbledore called out to her. "I should hope you don't intend to tell Harry all of this. He is just a child. We wouldn't want to burden him with such knowledge."

Half of her whole-heartedly agreed; half shouted that this was exactly the kind of thing they'd despised the first time around. It wasn't right or wise to keep secrets. And yet… yet it wasn't right to tell Harry either. He wasn't a sixteen-year-old who'd watched his friends and godfather die. He was twelve, just barely twelve, and probably thought the whole mess with Quirrell had just been a grand old adventure. Certainly that was what Hermione had thought. None of them had had any idea that the threats would just keep coming.

"I won't lie to him. He's stronger than you imagine… but anything I'm doing, I'm doing for him. I'm trying to spare him pain, so if I think he's better off not knowing, I won't tell him. But I get to make that decision, not you."

He nodded in concession, though his words sent shivers down my spine, "Very well, my dear. For now, Harry's fate—and that of the wizarding world—shall be in your hands."

* * *

As Hermione set about trying to plan for a better future, she wished desperately she'd let Dumbledore take over.

The future, she quickly discovered, was complicated. Certain things she wanted to accomplish were obvious—preventing Voldemort's return, for one. But the how of the matter was proving complicated. The ink of her quill dripped, forming a large blob as she tried to decide how to destroy the horcrux in Harry's scar. Horcrux's were tricky things. The vessel had to be completely destroyed for you to have any hope of destroying them. But without the blood connection to Voldemort, killing Harry wasn't an option. Hermione didn't know how they'd bring him back.

She bent over her desk, the edge of her quill tickling her nose. It was a problem she'd have to continue to ponder, but only one amid a long list of threats to the wizarding world.

And then there was the other list, the one Hermione needed to toss in the fire and let burn. Still, the selfish part of her couldn't do it, and her eyes scanned it once more.

**_1._****_Make sure you and Ron end up together_**

**_a._****_And are as close to Harry_**

**_2._****_Get Remus and Tonks together so Teddy is still born_**

**_3._****_Get Harry and Ginny together so James is born_**

They were stupid things to worry about, but still, Hermione worried. She'd lost everyone she loved, but maybe, just maybe, things could still work out in the end. If her younger self could have everything Hermione had lost, maybe she'd be able to live with that.

But if the cost of defeating Voldemort was the children she loved so dearly… Hermione didn't know she could live with it. She thought of Teddy's smile, the way he'd always turn his hair red at Christmas and pretend to be just another Weasley. And then there was James, her godson. She'd sworn to protect him, to guide him. Hermione couldn't risk his very existence! Perhaps it was better never to be born than to die, but to Hermione, to Hermione it would feel the same. If James was never born, Hermione might as well have killed him herself.

She scanned the list once more, then tossing it in the trash (but not the fire). She resisted the urge to immediately retrieve it and instead turned back to the real list, the one that hundreds of lives depended upon. It was actually quite short, which no doubt meant it was bound to go disastrously wrong. There were just too many pieces for her to predict.

And that was assuming she could change things. Something had sent her back—surely she was there for a reason. But could she really alter the future or would the prophecy win out. Was Harry truly the one who had to defeat Voldemort? And if he was, would Hermione simply make things worse?

A knock sounded upon the door, making her jump. Then there was silence, so Hermione thought she'd imagined it— until it sounded again. "Come in."

The door swung open and Hermione was shocked to find a nervous looking Draco Malfoy standing in her doorway. Oh, right. She'd forgotten about the detention she'd assigned. It was strange. Hermione had come to Hogwarts for the purpose of stopping Voldemort, but she wasn't just pretending to be a teacher. When she assigned a detention it meant something.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but you hadn't given me a time," Draco muttered. It was so _strange_. She scanned her memories for a time she'd heard Draco_ mutter_ but came up empty. He'd been humbled by his time as a Death Eater, but even during their eighth year, Draco had been confident. Now he just looked nervous. And who could blame him? Hermione was no longer a bookish muggleborn he could pick on. She was his teacher and had the power to make his life quite miserable.

There was a small, spiteful part of Hermione that wanted to do just that, but she fought it back. Instead, she pointed to a nearby desk, "This is just fine, Mr. Malfoy. For your detention I want you to write me an essay on what you gain, and what you lose, by being unkind to your classmates."

He stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

Hermione couldn't fight off her smirk, but then, she didn't need to. "I am quite serious, Mr. Malfoy. I am aware of the rather antagonistic relationships you have with a number of students. I want to know is why. You're both a bright boy and a proper Slytherin, surely you can put that mind to good use and outline the benefits to your current behavior. And what you might gain by at least _pretending_ to be kind. I can give you some examples to start. By calling muggleborn students slurs, you gain the esteem of your housemates. At the same time, you've created an enemy of not only a powerful young witch, but her friends as well—one whom, I'm sure you know, holds an ancestral seat in the Wizengamot."

The boy continued to stare at her, clearly convinced this was some sort of prank. But as Hermione turned from him, he finally got to work. Meanwhile, she decided to add one more item to her list of things to change.

**4.****Save the Slytherins from themselves**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for your continued support, and don't forget to review if you enjoyed it. It makes me so happy.

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Chapter 3

The familiars of the second-years were having a bad week. First, they'd been used for transfiguration practice. While Hedwig had made quite a beautiful water goblet, Harry also thought it was a bit cruel. So he was definitely worried when the notice went up on that they were to bring their familiars to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Friday. While the first class had been, quite frankly, incredible, Harry was nervous about whatever Professor Watson had planned for their friends. Hedwig could fly, but Scabbers wouldn't do so well if he got expelliarmus-ed across their classroom.

"You know, I really should look into getting a pet myself," Hermione noted for the dozenth time since the announcement had been posted. "I always thought of them as a bit of a luxury, but clearly their important to our studies."

"Maybe you can owl order an owl." Ron rolled his eyes, but Hermione was oblivious, pondering it while biting her lip.

Finally, she admitted, "I don't think I really want an owl though. I don't have anyone to write to, and they have to stay up in the owlery. Maybe a cat? I could ask Mum and Dad to buy me one for my birthday, but it's coming up so soon. And I really think a pet is something you need to pick out for yourself, isn't it?"

Ron seemed at his wit's end with the conversation, though Harry wasn't sure why. Hermione went on and on about things sometimes. Actually, it was one of the things Harry liked about her. It gave her character.

Speaking of characters—Professor Watson strolled through the doors like a woman on a mission. She had the exact same expression as Hermione did whenever she was heading to the library. The comparison made Harry smile, but it was fitting. Actually, Professor Watson actually reminded Harry of Hermione in a number of ways. They had the same eyes, same nose. Of course, Professor Watson lacked Hermione's trademark teeth and bushy hair, but besides that, there was a resemblance. And the professor radiated a certain intensity that Hermione, even at twelve, had perfected. Except with Hermione it made her seem a bit like a know-it-all, whereas for a teacher, for a teacher it was just impressive.

Still, an odd feeling settled over Harry when he noticed _just_ how intensely she was studying them. Especially when her gaze fell upon Ron. The woman seemed to still, her face blank and calm, but a certain terror clear in her eyes.

"Harry? Are you in there, Mate?"

Harry turned to Ron, blushing. This was what daydreaming about teachers got him. "Sorry. Did you say something?"

Ron went to repeat himself, but before he could, the doors to the room slammed shut. Professor Watson walked down the aisle, handing Draco Malfoy something that looked like a heavily marked up essay. The boy blushed brightly—a good look for the deathly-pale boy—and stuffed the parchment into his pocket. Already Professor Watson had turned back to the room, casting spell after spell on it. Hermione had her notebook out and was trying to copy down the incantations phonetically, but Harry didn't bother. Something told him that these spells weren't the lesson, and besides, he was terrible at piecing together what his professors said when casting. Hence how he'd spent half of transfiguration saying 'fera verto' and not 'vera verto'.

It didn't matter anyway, because Professor Watson was soon done and turned back to the class. She smiled, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Almost on reflex, he reached up to his scar. It didn't hurt, not the way it had around Quirrell. This feeling, though, the feeling that something was about to happen, it was exactly how Harry had always felt around his old professor. It made him nervous. He didn't think Professor Watson had Voldemort on the back of her head, but he hadn't thought Quirrell did either. It was hard to trust any of his professors after that. Still, Harry didn't want to become a suspicious old grouch, so he tried to put it aside.

"I swear we'll start a more orderly curriculum soon," Professor Watson seemed to find that funny for some reason. "But today, we need to talk about a topic Professor Quirrell, for obvious reasons, never introduced—how to detect a threat."

Her eyes drifted to Harry when she mentioned Quirrell, and it caused the boy to blush. How had she found out about what happened? Dumbledore had told him the whole school knew what had happened, but Harry had discovered that wasn't actually true. None of his classmates—excluding Ron and Hermione—seemed to really grasp that it hadn't just been Quirrell trying to steal the stone. It had been Voldemort himself. And that terrified Harry. Maybe that was why he hadn't corrected any of his classmates. Why he hadn't said anything to anyone—Harry didn't want anyone else to be scared as he was.

Or maybe he just didn't want anyone to know he was scared.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor Watson called. Ron hastily covered the doodle he'd been drawing, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she pointed her wand at Scabbers. "May I borrow your rat for my demonstration?"

Harry knew Ron well, so he knew his friend didn't actually like offering Scabbers up as a lab rat. Still, you didn't exactly say no to a teacher. Professor Watson scooped up the rat in her hand, handling him rather roughly. Harry scowled; there was no need to hurt Scabbers.

"Who can tell me what kind of dangers this rat—Scabbers, is it—might present?"

Harry thought hard. Professor Watson wasn't like most of their other professors. Usually it was easy to know the answer, all you had to do was have read ahead the night before. Harry always read ahead, at least when he wasn't too busy with Quidditch. That didn't mean he ever raised his hand, though. Hermione liked answering questions in class; Harry hated it. Everyone stared at him enough because of his scar. He didn't need them thinking he was a know-it-all either. And while Harry loved Hermione, even he could admit she was a bit of a know-it-all.

But even Hermione struggled to answer Professor Watson's questions, mostly because she couldn't find the answer in a book. And Hermione was clever, properly clever. Still, she always looked a bit bitter when a professor asked a question she didn't know the answer to off the top of her head. Harry actually liked it better. Professor Watson's questions were odd, but they were interesting. How could Scabbers hurt them?

Gregory Goyle tentatively raised his hand, and everyone in the room turned to stare. Harry's eyes bulged from his head. Goyle, _Goyle_, raising his hand to answer a question in class? It was unheard of. It was impossible. And yet… yet Harry was witnessing it firsthand. He exchanged a look with Ron. Even Professor Watson seemed surprised, but she called on him.

"Yes, Mr. Goyle. You have an idea?"

For a moment, Goyle's mouth hung open, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do now that he'd been called on. But slowly he suggested, "Uh, he could bite us."

Ron and Harry both snickered, remembering just the time that had happened. Even Malfoy seemed to smirk, which was kind of cruel. Still, Professor Watson looked impressed, "Yes indeed. A point to Slytherin then. While it's unlikely a rat would maul you, you could get diseases which could be quite dangerous. Anyone have any other ideas of ways Scabbers could be a threat?"

Everyone was silent, thinking deeply, but then Hermione's eyes lit up. She leaned forward in her seat, shooting her hand into the air.

"Yes Miss Granger?"

"He could be animagus, like Professor McGonagall."

Ron scrunched up his face. "Scabbers isn't an animagus, we've had him for years. What sort of person would hide as a rat for eleven years?"

Something flashed across Professor Watson's gaze, something Harry couldn't quite define. But he put it down to the fact that Scabbers had begun to struggle, clearly not pleased by the direction of the conversation. Harry expected Professor Watson to let the rat go and pick up a different test subject, especially when the creature bit her. Instead, though, she just gritted her teeth and forced out a laugh. "Well, we've proven he's willing to bite. Why don't we prove he's not an animagus next? Does anyone know the spell?"

If anyone had, they wouldn't have said it. Even Hermione was too distracted by the fight Scabbers was suddenly putting up. The rat thrashed about wildly, like he was having some sort of seizure. Be bit Professor Watson again, this time drawing blood, but she just held him tighter, dangling him by his tail so he couldn't bite her.

"Stop it!" Ron shouted. "Can't you see you're hurting him?"

Professor Watson looked at Ron sympathetically. "I'm not doing anything, Mr. Weasley. He just doesn't seem to like this lesson. _Veritas revelio_!"

A blue light flashed from her wand. Suddenly, Scabbers began to writhe. Harry thought Ron was right and she had hurt him, but then, then something strange happened. Scabbers seemed to grow, doubling in size, then tripling, until he was too big for Professor Watson to even hold. And then it got odder, because he wasn't just growing—he was changing. His mousy brown hair shrunk back until it was only a mop on the top of his head. His face shrunk, becoming something round and pudgy.

A number of the girls screamed, or maybe it was the boys. There, standing in front of the class, was not a rat but a man. A full-grown man. He bit his nails like a rat. His eyes dashed across the room. Then, he looked right at Harry and began to run. Harry didn't have time to react, he just shielded his face with his arms, certain the man, whoever he was, was going to kill him.

"_Stupefy! Petrificus totalus!"_

The man froze in place, then flopped to the ground like a dead fish. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; his classmates panicked further. Most of them dashed towards the doors, and shrieked when they found them locked. Someone, Harry thought it was Draco, shouted, "She's going to kill us all!"

Meanwhile, Ron ran towards the man, voice trembling, "What have you done to Scabbers?"

Harry frowned. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but there was one thing he did know. He followed after Ron, grabbing his friend and dragging him away from the unconscious man. "Ron, whoever that is, it's not Scabbers."

Ron pulled away from Harry and shouted, voice higher than a girl. "Of course it's Scabbers! You saw her! She's done something to him."

"I'm sorry about this," Professor Watson sighed. Then she raised her wand high, "Silencio maxima."

A hushed silence fell over the room, though mouths still moved. Ron looked so upset that he seemed ready to throw himself at Professor Watson. Harry was ready to fight too, but there was something in Professor Watson's eyes, something that made him want to hear her out.

"Everyone return to your seats and I'll reverse the spell." She waited a long time, staring each and every one of them down. Ron was the last one to obey, so Hermione dragged him back to his seat. He continued to glare at their professor though, even as she lifted the curse.

"Professor, what's going on?" Malfoy cast a nervous glance at the unconscious man. "Who is that?"

Professor Watson crouched down next to the man, feeling his pulse. Then she stood, brushed off her robes like there wasn't an unconscious man on the floor of her classroom, and declared. "I have my suspicions, Mr. Malfoy, but I don't know. I had not _actually_ expected to discover one of your familiars was an animagus."

Harry wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he couldn't think of any reason she'd have to lie. Besides, she'd never even seen Scabbers before. Ron normally left him in the dorm during classes. There was no way she could have known about him. It was just a very, very strange coincidence.

It had to be, didn't it?

"Scabbers isn't an animagus. He's a rat."

Harry turned to stare at Ron. He didn't know how he'd feel if Hedwig suddenly turned into a lumpy man, but Ron was just being delusional. Obviously Scabbers was not a rat.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. I wish I had better news for you. Now, he's properly unconscious, so I will unlock the doors. Please return to your Common Rooms in an orderly manner. I won't ask you not to speak of this because you wouldn't listen, but try to keep the rumors down, won't you? We don't know anything at the moment."

"Professor, shouldn't someone get Professor Dumbledore? It can't be legal to hide in a school like this."

For some odd reason, Professor Watson seemed to find Hermione's words amusing. Still, she nodded, casting the silvery dog of her patronus and telling it, "Please inform Professor Dumbledore that we've had an incident."

Harry had never heard of the Patronus Charm before Monday, but he was certain he wanted to learn it. The silvery creature was beautiful and filled Harry with a warmth. Just being in its presence made Harry feel like he'd just had a nice cup of hot cocoa. Plus he wanted to know what form his own would take.

After sending the Patronus, Professor Watson cast a few more spells on the man, then flicked open the doors. Many of their classmates, particularly the girls and the Slytherins, dashed from the room. Neville followed close behind. Only Ron seemed legitimately hesitant to leave.

"Come on, Mate. I still have some Chocolate Frogs we can open," Harry suggested, grabbing his friend's shoulder and leading him from the room. Ron cast him a helpless look, then turned to glance longingly at the-man-who-was-not-Scabbers.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley. I'll take care of him," Professor Watson promised, and yet, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't mean that in quite the sense Ron would hope.

* * *

"I hate her."

Harry thought Ron's declaration was rather drastic personally. He didn't know what had happened during Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he did know it _probably_ wasn't Professor Watson's fault. He wasn't certain of that, though. Especially not as the three of them gathered on the floor near the window.

The Gryffindor Common Room was particularly busy for a Friday night. Usually the first Friday back to school the upper-years would go out—where they actually went Harry wasn't sure. But that night everyone was too busy gossiping to get ready. As for the topic of conversation, it wasn't hard to guess. The words 'animagus' and 'Watson' seemed to be particular favorites.

"Really. I hate her. Who does she think she is coming in and casting curses on our pets. Scabbers never did anything wrong."

Hermione bit her lip. "You have to admit—it does look bad."

"Exactly. Thanks 'Mione."

Harry blinked. Hermione always defended their professors, even Snape. Was she really taking Ron's side. "She was just doing her job."

Hermione shook her head, "No, I mean it looks bad for Scabbers. I've never heard of a spell to turn a rat into a person. I don't even think it's possible; humans are too complex. Face it Ron—Scabbers is an animagus."

Ron scowled at her, "You're only taking her side because she's a professor. You agree with me, don't you Harry?"

Harry was torn. He always hated it when Ron and Hermione made him pick between them. Usually if they disagreed about something, Hermione was right, but she didn't expect Harry to back her up the way Ron did. Ron always got very bitter when Harry didn't agree with him.

But still, Harry liked Professor Watson, even if there was something very odd about her. And he couldn't deny that what Hermione was saying made a lot more sense than Ron's conspiracy. Why would Professor Watson turn a rat into a person and accuse it of being an Animagus? She'd have to be nuts!

"Sorry, Ron."

Ron huffed, but before he could say anything else, something remarkably strange happened—Percy Weasley came and sat on the floor with them.

Now Harry liked Percy, he supposed. At the very least he didn't _dislike_ Percy. The older Weasley could be a bit of a prat, and he wasn't fun like Fred and George, but he wasn't bad either. Still, the prefect had made it very clear from the start that he was too busy to have much to do with his younger siblings. He'd check in on them, read them the riot act if they stepped out of line, but nothing else. He hadn't even wanted to be with his family at Christmas, and while Harry didn't have a family, he knew you were definitely supposed to be with your family at Christmas. And ultimately, Percy had seemed to have fun last Christmas. But he hadn't begun hanging out with his siblings after.

And he'd certainly never sat on the floor with them.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened with Scabbers. All these rumors, they're just absurd. Scabbers is a rat, not an animagus."

Harry suddenly remembered that, like everything else, Scabbers was a hand-me-down. He'd been Percy's for nine years. Of course the teen would be unsettled by what everyone was saying.

"That's what I've been saying. We would have known if a grown man was living in our house for 11 years. Living in our beds."

Percy looked positively disgusted by the possibility, but clearly hadn't ruled it out like Ron had. Maybe he was just older, more used to the insanity that was magic. Or maybe he was just too logical to make any decisions without the facts.

That was something Hermione understood well, so she launched into an explanation for him. "Professor Watson was trying to show us how to identify threats, so she cast a _revelio_ to demonstrate how you would identify an animagus. But then Scabbers turned into a man and she stunned him. It was quite impressive, actually."

"Are you talking about Professor Watson?" Ginny Weasley plopped down between her brothers, ignoring Harry for the first time since they'd met. "She's very strange… Promise not to tell Mum and Dad if I tell you something?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione gladly agreed. Percy hmphed, "I'll do no such thing. If it's something they need to know, I have to tell them. Has something happened between you and Professor Watson?"

Ginny looked nervous, but finally nodded. "First day she tracked me down, which was strange because I hadn't even had Defense yet. But she tracked me down and asked me about a diary I had. I don't know how she even knew about it, but she did, and she told me I was lucky she had known. Apparently it was cursed. I thought she was nuts and was ready to go to McGonagall. But I actually feel a lot less tired now."

Harry was surprised. How could Professor Watson have known about this diary if she hadn't even had Ginny in class yet? Had she been able to sense the curse from a distance? Harry wasn't sure if that was possible, though clearly Professor Watson was powerful, so maybe it was.

Percy glared at Ginny, "Since nothing happened, I won't tell Mum, but you should. You're very lucky you didn't get hurt."

"I know! That's why I really like Professor Watson. But it's just… I used to play dress up with Scabbers when you weren't looking, Perc."

Ron gaped. "Bloody Hell! That's why I found that miniature dress."

"Is Percy wearing dresses again?" Fred—or perhaps George—asked, plopping down.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. They didn't think they'd ever seen all the Weasley children sitting together in the Common Room.

"We're talking about Scabbers. Apparently he's a middle-aged man."

"Oh yeah, Peter Pettigrew."

They all froze, turning to stare at the twins. Percy was the one who seemed to regain his wits the fastest. "You knew he was an animagus?"

"Not an animagus. We thought he was a Maledictus, you know, someone cursed to turn into an animal permanently. We tried all sorts of things to make him become human but none of them worked."

Harry frowned. He wasn't quite sure what the twins were talking about, but it definitely sounded odd to him. Percy, however, just looked affronted.

"Of course he wasn't a Maledictus. Everyone knows only women can be Maledictuses! I cannot believe you never told anyone. That's so irresponsible."

"Hang on," Hermione interrupted, waving her hands rather frantically. "How did you know he wasn't just a rat in the first place?"

Fred and George exchanged a look, then patted Hermione on the head. "Wouldn't you like to know, little witch?"

Percy fumed. "You either tell us or you tell Professor McGonagall. This isn't some sort of prank. There was a grown man in my bed!"

He said the last bit a bit too loud and everyone sitting nearby turned to stare. A few of the seventh year girls looked both horrified and strangely intrigued. It made Harry blush.

"We'll never give up our source," Fred proudly declared. "Journalistic integrity!"

"Please," Ginny smirked. "You've never written a news article in your lives."

Percy continued to press, the issue, but Harry knew the twins would never break. They had, however, made him realize something important—he had his own ways of discovering secrets.

He nudged Ron and Hermione, than pantomimed pulling a cloak over himself. Hermione got it instantly, Ron, not so much. Finally though, he followed Harry from where his siblings sat arguing.

"We can go to Dumbledore's office and find out what's happening!"

"Harry, we can't break into Dumbledore's office and spy on him," Hermione hissed. "We'd be breaking a dozen school rules. Never mind it's rude. How would you like someone sneaking into your room?"

Ron and Harry both gave her a look, and Harry reminded her, "That's the thing. Someone did sneak into our room and we want to know who."

Ron nodded, "There is something odd about Professor Watson! How did she know about Ginny's diary? Maybe she's the one who cursed it."

"Don't be absurd. Professor Watson is a teacher."

Harry felt a little bit bad for Hermione. She just opened herself up to all sorts of disappointment with an attitude like that. "So was Quirrell and he tried to kill me. We're not sneaking into Dumbledore's bath. Ron deserved to know; Scabbers was his rat."

It was clear that Hermione didn't like the idea. It went against everything she believed in. And yet, she believed in her friends more than anything else, so, finally, she nodded. "Go get the cloak."

* * *

AN: I had way too much fun addressing plot holes in this chapter, so sorry if it got away from me a bit. I just think they're funny. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry I haven't updated sooner. I've been having a rather rough few days. But the encouragement and support has helped me get through it and back to writing, so all I can say is 'thank you'.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 4

Hermione suspected she was being spied on.

She had no proof, of course. The problem with Harry's invisibility cloak was that it was not just a cloak, It was _the cloak_, a Deathly Hallow, and therefore undetectable to even the most powerful of spells. So there was absolutely no way for Hermione to know if Harry was spying on them. Except she knew Harry, and she knew herself. The little scene she'd made in class had guaranteed the whole school would be buzzing with rumors.

Unfortunately, it had been unavoidable. She and Dumbledore had spent the whole week trying to think of ways they could reveal Pettigrew. It should have been easy, but nothing ever was. There were just so many things to consider. If Pettigrew knew what was happening, he might flee. Or, if she made it too obvious, he might ask questions about just how Professor Watson had known his secret, and just who she really was. Hermione had already been too bold with Ginny and the diary. Ginny, at least, was eleven; no one would listen to her if she noticed how odd things were. But if Hermione had her way, Peter Pettigrew would soon find himself with a very, very public trial. There couldn't be anything odd about his arrest.

That was how she'd come up with her plan to catch him, and how she ended up spending her Friday evening in the Headmaster's office with the Minister for Magic. And Merlin's beard—she'd forgotten what an idiot Cornelius Fudge was.

"But he can't be Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew died! Black obliterated him! All we found was a finger!"

"All due respect, Minister," Hermione interjected. She loved that expression; it worked perfectly for people who weren't deserving of any respect at all. "All due respect, Minister, but, isn't it quite unreasonable to look at a single severed figure and assume there is absolutely nothing else left?"

Amelia Bones hid a snorting laugh. Fudge looked flabbergasted. "Who are you again?"

Hermione was beginning to wonder if Fudge had serious brain damage, or if he just physically couldn't process information which contradicted his position.

Dumbledore seemed unconcerned, or maybe he was just used to it, "Professor Jean Watson, Minister. She was the one who discovered Pettigrew hiding as a student's rat. And I assure you, Cornelius, it is Pettigrew. I knew him well and he is even missing a finger. The one you found, no doubt. In return, he seems to have gained something else."

Fudge shook his head, "What are you blabbering on about? What did he gain?"

They'd "offered" Pettigrew a rather effective sleeping drought, so he currently lay unconscious on the floor of the Headmaster's office. Hermione knew they could keep dancing around things, or they could get to it. So she picked the latter. She went over to the sleeping traitor and proudly displayed his left arm. "A Dark Mark, Minister. That's what he gained. Not for hiding from Black, but for betraying the Potters to Voldemort."

Even Director Bones looked nervous. Fudge gasped. "Now, now, young lady. I'd ask you not to use that name in front of me."

"Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione and Dumbledore chastised in unison. Then, they blushed in unison as well, though Dumbledore looked quite proud of her.

Fudge continued to splutter, but Director Bones was a woman made from stronger stuff. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rose from her seat, inspected Pettigrew's mark, and made the first rational conclusion of the night, "Then Sirius Black was innocent all along."

"Now Amelia, don't be ridiculous!"

"Au contraire, Minister, I believe she is quite correct. I myself testified that Black had been the Potter Secret Keeper, but it seems quite clear that the Potters tricked even myself. It was Pettigrew who betrayed them. Pettigrew who killed all those muggles. Sirius Black is an innocent man who must be immediately released."

Fudge's face had turned the color of a plum. "Now hang on a minute, Albus. Even if Pettigrew was a Death Eater, that isn't to say Black is innocent. They were friends, were they not, the closest of friends. No doubt You-Know-Who approached them both. Why Black could even have attacked Pettigrew because he'd led You-Know-Who to the Potters and gotten him killed. There is no doubt in my mind that Black killed those muggles. He confessed!"

Hermione wanted to scream. She liked to think she was stubborn, but the good kind of stubborn. Hell or high water couldn't turn her away from doing what was right, doing what was necessary. But Fudge… his stubbornness came from misplaced arrogance. He honestly believed he was right and it was simply frightening.

At least Director Bones was reasonable, "Perhaps you are correct Minister. It is difficult to know why Black would have confessed had he not done it. Still, the murder of Pettigrew must be voided since the man is, quite obviously, alive. Perhaps the matter of the other murders should also be revisited. We may need him as a witness against Pettigrew, and it would be nice not to have any surprises from the man while he is on the stand."

"An excellent idea," Dumbledore proclaimed, smiling widely. "And perhaps we can see if either would voluntarily submit to Veritaserum."

"Black went through Auror training," Fudge dismissed with a wave. "He would know how to resist."

Hermione couldn't bit her tongue any longer and snapped, "But Peter Pettigrew has the brains of a pea, so surely he doesn't. Honestly, I can't believe you're so obstinate you'd allow the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to sit in Azkaban without even a trial."

Fudge opened his mouth. Then shut it. He looked quite a bit like a fish in Hermione's opinion. It would have been funny had he not been the Head of Magical Britain.

But when he spoke, it wasn't to remind her of his status. Nor even to continue arguing against her. Instead, he sounded almost frightened, "Head of House Black? But he was disinherited was he not?"

Dumbledore shook his head, "Not legally, no. And with Lord Arcturus dead last fall, that would make Sirius Head of House."

Fudge paled. Quite frankly, Hermione didn't get why that of all things had put him over the edge. Of course she knew House Black held a Wizengamot seat—Harry had inherited it after Sirius's death—but still. Surely Fudge didn't care about one Wizengamot seat compared to the innocence of a man.

Merlin's beard, who was she kidding? Of course he did. Innocent men didn't hold votes of no confidence. Ancestral lords did.

Suddenly, Fudge stood, wiping off his robes and trying to regain some semblance of dignity. "Well then, I hope I can trust you, as Chief Warlock, to call an emergency session in the morning to settle this matter. I'll escort Mr. Pettigrew to Azkaban for the night, and see that Mr… that Lord Black is removed from the care of the dementors, at least."

Hermione hated how quick he'd been to change his tune, but at least Sirius would be free. She wasn't quite sure how that would change things, and a part of her wondered what kind of influence the man would be on Harry, but still, he was innocent. He deserved to be proven innocent. And Harry deserved a family, even one in the form of a reckless godfather.

"I shall come with you if you don't mind, Minister. To ensure the anti-animagus wards are secure. We would not want Mr. Pettigrew to exploit this weakness in Azkaban's defenses."

Hermione cringed. This was why she did not like telling Dumbledore about the future. It wasn't the irreparable damage to the timeline she worded about—it was the hidden jokes.

"Oh, well, that's not necessary… But if you instead, I surely don't mind. Come along, Amelia… and thank you for your assistance, Miss Wartson."

Hermione bit her tongue hard; Director Bones cast her a sympathetic gaze. Quickly, though, Dumbledore and Fudge had dragged Pettigrew through the floo, and Hermione was left alone. Or well, apparently alone.

"Five points from Gryffindor—from each of you—for unlawful supervision."

"Oww! Ronald that's my foot!" Hermione, young Hermione, hissed. Then, from out of nowhere, the trio appeared. Professor Watson had to hide her grin. Was it strange to be proud of yourself? Definitely. Still, she was. It was definitely not smart for the three of them to wander around spying on people, but it filled her with a sense of excitement, of purpose, unlike she'd felt in a long time. Back then it really had all been harmless fun.

For her, at least. And for Ron. From the look of dread on Harry's face, that wasn't true. It took Hermione a moment to realize why, but once she did, her heart dropped. Of course! How could she be so stupid? Harry had flipped the last time he'd discovered his parent's had been betrayed by a friend. He'd been devastated, and who could blame him?

Jean sighed, "Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. I think it's time you both head back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Mr. Potter and I need to have a talk."

"But!" little Hermione protested, shut up only by the stern look of her professor. Slowly, though, loyal as always, she pushed, "But Professor, I really think Harry wants us here."

"Yeah, don't you Harry?" Ron prompted, physically nudging his friend. (As if that was subtle).

Harry looked torn. His eyes darted between his friends and the dying floo. The grief in them was palpable, overwhelming almost. He was so young! It hurt Hermione to see such pain in eyes so young. Harry didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this. But that was why Hermione was trying to make it better, truly trying. Anything to make it hurt a little bit less.

But it was clear that, momentarily, having his friends around was only increasing the pain. Hermione knew herself, and she knew that while Ron and little-Hermione wanted to support their friend, they were also just curious buggers. They wanted to know, to be a part of, everything. But they weren't. This was really none of their business, at least not in the way it was Harry's. And if they really wanted to support him, and Hermione knew they did, then they would need to learn how to step back. It had been the hardest lesson for her to learn but in the end, it was for the best. Sometimes the best way to support someone was to give them space.

But only sometimes, which was why Hermione was sending the second years away, and not about to let Harry out of her sight.

"Unfortunately, this isn't up to Harry. Common Room or it will be detention for you both _and_ you'll return to the Common Room."

Ron and Hermione looked desperately to Harry, but there was a hint of relief in his eyes. "It's alright. I'll catch up with you."

"Take the cloak," Professor Watson suggested. "Snape is on patrol and he'll give you detention for breathing."

That got a chuckle from the children, and Ron and Hermione disappeared. A moment later, Hermione realized that by giving them the cloak she had no way of guaranteeing they wouldn't continue to follow her and Harry. Still, she trusted her younger self to have a healthy enough regard for the rules to keep Ron in line. And for the moment, they weren't her main concern.

"Come on, Harry. I'll make you a cup of tea and we can talk."

* * *

Professor Watson seemed to know just how Harry liked his tea, and honestly, the boy wasn't surprised. There was just something about her that felt all-knowing. It was slightly intimidating, but for the moment, Harry enjoyed it. It was nice to not have to say anything at all. Harry was worried that if he opened his mouth to ask for sugar, he might burst into a million questions—or tears.

Helplessness and anger rose in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, but Harry pushed them down. He tried to focus instead on his surroundings. He'd assumed they'd go to Professor Watson's office behind her classroom, but she'd led him even further, past a bookcase he hadn't known was fake, into what looked like a very cozy apartment. There wasn't much in the way of decorations, no photographs lining the mantle, just a single framed ring. Still the apartment looked lived in. There was a blanket strewn across the couch and empty mug on the side table, right next to pile of books. Harry expected them to be fancy textbooks on dark magic, but when he caught the title, he realized one of them was Ronald Dahl's **Matilda.** Harry had never read it, the Dursleys forbid books about magic, but still, he knew it was a children's book. It was so odd to imagine a teacher enjoying it.

Professor Watson caught him staring, and smiled, "Have I told you I'm muggleborn? I was nine when I first read it and I sat on the floor of my room trying to make my books fly. What do you think happened?"

"They flew?"

Much to Harry's surprise, Professor Watson shook her head, "No, they didn't. Perhaps one or two budged, but nothing visibly magical. And I was so disappointed. Of course I knew, or I thought I knew, that magic wasn't real. But still, I'd so hoped it would be. Magic, adventures, prophecies, danger—they all seemed so fun in the stories I'd read. I wanted that for myself. But my books didn't fly, and I resigned myself to living in a logical universe. And then, two years later, Professor McGonagall showed up on my doorstep and said I was a witch. Don't ever believe we live in a logical world, Harry. It will always find a new way to surprise you."

The unpredictability of the universe should have frightened Harry, but instead, the prospect lifted his heart. If the Universe truly was as strange a place as she said, then that meant anything was possible.

"Do you understand what you overheard tonight?"

Harry bit his lip. He didn't exactly feel bad about eavesdropping, not when they'd been discussing his parents. But still, he knew it was wrong, and he did feel bad about disappointing Professor Watson. Mostly, though, he didn't know _what_ he felt. He didn't understand what they'd been talking about, not really. He got that Scabbers—Pettigrew—had helped kill his parents. Beyond that…

He nodded anyway, not wanting to seem stupid. But as always, Professor Watson saw right through him. It was almost like she'd had years to learn when he was lying.

"It's alright that you don't, Harry. By my understanding, the adults in your life haven't been particularly forthcoming with information. There is a lot your professors just assume you know. No one else on staff is muggle-born, I don't think. And honestly, people don't like talking about what happened with your parents, but that means you've never had a chance to learn. You mustn't feel ashamed of that. I want you to feel free to ask me anything, and I'll answer the best I can."

Harry knew that, he did. Still, it was nice to hear it from an adult. Since coming to Hogwarts he'd been surrounded by new things. Every day, a new spell, a new potion. There'd never been time to slow down and ask simple questions like "Do we have a Prime Minister?"

"End of last year, I asked Professor Dumbledore why Voldemort targeted me. He told me I was too young to know. But do you… do you?"

Something flashed over Professor Watson's face, a mix of surprise, grief, and fear. It made Harry wonder if he really wanted an answer. But he knew, deep down, that he needed one. Professor Dumbledore said he was too young but Harry didn't _feel_ young.

"You must understand something, Harry. Professor Dumbledore cares about you, a great deal. He was very close to both of your parents. He remembers when you were born and when he looks at you, it's hard for him to forget that. So he doesn't tell you things, because he doesn't think you're ready to hear them. And honestly, I'm not sure you're ready to hear them either but…"

She trailed off, and then was silent for a long time. Harry could see the war waging behind her eyes. There was something she was fighting with, something dark and scary. It made Harry want to tell her it was okay, that he didn't need to know. He almost did, but then she shut her eyes, and spoke, "It's impossible to be certain how much time any of us have, Harry. And you don't need to know everything at once, but it also feels wrong to lie to you. So, yes, I do know why Voldemort wanted to kill you. And I will tell you...but only if you really want me to."

Harry blinked in surprise. Did he want her to? Harry didn't know the last time someone had asked him what he wanted, not when it came to something important, at least. There were just too many things he had to do—chores, homework, fight Voldemort. But what did he want? He wanted to play quidditch and be with his friends. He wanted to succeed in his classes and learn magic. But did he want to know why Voldemort had tried to kill him?

No, not really. But still, this felt like one more thing he had to do, whether he wanted it or not. And maybe Professor Watson was smart, but surely she'd never understand that. "I think I need to, Professor."

"That's not the same thing, Harry," she softly reminded him. "But knowledge… knowledge is power. So I'll tell you, just generally though. There is more to it than this, but it's not safe to tell you. There are many wizards who are skilled in legilimency, what you'd think of as mind-reading, and until you're old enough to learn occlumency, it's best you don't know everything. Is that okay?"

Harry really didn't understand why she cared what he thought so much, but he definitely liked it. "If you think it's best."

A wistful smile, and then she nodded. "Thank you Harry. I appreciate your confidence… Now, as to the question of why Voldemort wanted to kill you, it is, at it's core, very simple. Voldemort was afraid. He'd been told by a certain follower of his, Death Eaters they're called, that a child had been born who could be a threat. He didn't know the details, or even if it was true, but he needed to kill someone anyways for a dark spell he was trying to do, so he chose to kill two birds with one stone and went after you… You should know other children were also targets around this time. The Longbottoms went into hiding the same day your parents did."

Oh. _Actually_, Harry thought. _That's not so bad._ He'd been worried that there was something really terrible about him that had made Voldemort want to kill him, but if the Longbottoms had been scared too, that made him feel slightly better. Only slightly, though, because it occurred to Harry that he had no idea what had happened to Neville's parents. He lived with his Gran, after all, so did that mean they were dead? Was his classmate an orphan too? If so, Harry felt horrible. Everyone treated Harry like he was special when all that had happened was his parents dying for him. If the same thing had happened to Neville…

"But Professor, if my parents were in hiding, how were they found? Is that… is that where Pettigrew comes in?"

Professor Watson nodded slowly and the knot in Harry's stomach returned. Oh. "What happened?"

"There is this spell, it's called the Fidelus. It's a very difficult, and very powerful, protective ward. It lets you hide a building in plain sight. You could be standing in the middle of it and not know it's there. The only way you can see a place hidden by the Fidelus is if you're told the address by what's called a Secret Keeper… Peter Pettigrew was your parents' Secret Keeper. He was their friend, or so they thought. But he told Voldemort where they were and then, when Voldemort was banished, he panicked. He faked his death, killing 12 muggles in the process, and then hid as a rat named Scabbers."

Harry clenched his fists, fighting back the urge to scream. How could he do that? How could anyone betray their friends? Harry would die for his friends. Merlin's beard, he'd die for Draco Malfoy and Harry hated Draco. It just wasn't fair. And why had his parents trusted someone like that? It was all their fault. If they'd only been smarter. If they'd only…

Professor Watson got up from where she sat and pulled Harry into a tight hug. It surprised him at first. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged. Probably the end of last year, when Hermione had hugged him on the last day of term. Actually, that was the only time Harry could remember being hugged at all. It felt strange. Good, in a certain sense. Warm and comforting. But a part of him was nervous. He wanted to escape, to run. What if hugging was just a trap, a chance for someone to hide their face and stab him in the back?

Professor Watson pulled away, but continued to hold Harry's shoulder's tight. Their eyes met, and her chocolate eyes seemed to stare into his soul. But it didn't make him feel nervous or judged. No, it made him feel safe. Loved, even, which was a silly thing to get from a _teacher._

"Listen to me Harry. Remember how I told you I wasn't going to lie to you?" He nodded. "Good, then know this isn't a lie. It wasn't your fault Voldemort killed your parents. And it wasn't your parents' fault either. The blame lies with Pettigrew and Voldemort, no one else. Do you understand?"

He did. Logically, he did. Still, the anger and grief which coursed through his body was too great to just disappear with a hug and a few kind words. But maybe, just maybe, he could hold them back. Maybe Professor Watson's words were like tape, just strong enough to piece his soul back together.

Except there was one more piece that Harry wasn't quite sure where it went. "But Professor, if Pettigrew did all that then who is Sirius Black?"


	5. Chapter 5

Wow. I'm just floored by all the encouragement. Thank you. I'll be honest, this isn't the most exciting chapter, but I just had too much fun playing with fanon and politics. ! Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5

Sirius Black turned out to be Harry's godfather and the boy had never been so happy in his life.

A godfather, a real, live, godfather. Quite honestly, Harry wasn't sure what godfathers actually did. He knew Marge was Dudley's godmother, though, and she gave Dudley all sorts of gifts, so maybe it would be like that. One way or another, Sirius Black had been friends with his parents, best friends with them, even. And that was all Harry cared about.

Also, godfathers felt like family, and it was nice to know Harry had some family of his own.

Harry had stayed up very late on Friday night explaining to his friends everything Professor Watson had told him. Then, the next morning, he was awoken early by Professor McGonagall, told to put on his nicest robes, and come to the Headmaster's office.

Now Harry didn't have any nice robes. The only robes he had were his school ones, and they were all a year old. Still, he used water to smooth out the folds in the robe which seemed the least faded, then dashed to the Headmaster's office. Only as an afterthought did he realize that Ron and Hermione would be upset that he'd gone without them. Still, he rationed, this probably had something to do with his godfather (_godfather!_) so really, it was none of their business. Not that he minded his friends tagging along with him, they were his friends after all, but Harry didn't want to miss this chance to meet his godfather by dawdling to explain things to them.

So as the sun's rays peaked through the windows, Harry stood in the Headmaster's office, surrounded by adults talking about him.

"He's too young," Mrs. Weasley insisted, reaching out and squeezing Harry's shoulder. He knew it was supposed to be a motherly, comforting act. Still, it felt a bit like she was squeezing the air from his lungs.

"I, for one, think Potter is at just the right age to learn what awaits miscreants," Snape sneered. If Harry was confused as to why Mrs. Weasley was there, he was even more baffled by Snape's presence. At least Mrs. Weasley didn't hate him.

Professor Watson glared at Snape, then pointed out the obvious, "Luckily, it's not up to you. Per the law, the only people with any real authority over Harry are Sirius Black himself, as Harry's godfather, and Professor Dumbledore, who stands in loco parentis for all Hogwarts students. Mr. Black being in no position to make this decision, Dumbledore has, and so Harry is coming. Besides, it's what Harry wants, isn't it?"

Harry blinked. Was this what he wanted? Well of course is was. He had a godfather, a real live godfather! He wanted to see Sirius freed as much as anyone, and since it was his parents Pettigrew had betrayed, he wanted to see justice done there too.

Besides, it was just the Ministry of Magic. What could be so scary about that?

"I want to go."

Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands together smiling widely at Harry. "Then this matter is settled. Molly, I've asked you to join us as a courtesy, Harry did spend a month in your home, but as Professor Watson so wisely pointed out, you are not Harry's guardian. Sirius Black is."

Mrs. Weasley seemed none-too-pleased with that. She hmphed loudly, and Harry noticed Professor Watson roll her eyes. It made him grin. Professor Watson was a young teacher, he knew that. Still, it was funny to see a teacher roll her eyes. Harry did not think he'd ever seen a teacher do that before.

"At this rate, none of us will get there before they lock the door," Professor Watson reminded them. "And since Snape has the Veritaserum, that could prove to be quite a problem."

"Ah, yes, yes," Dumbledore babbled. "Into the floo, then. Harry, have you used the floo before?"

He nodded, though neglected to mention the difficulties he'd had in doing so. Mrs. Weasley clearly remembered them, though, because she continued to frown. Or maybe she just disliked the situation. Harry didn't know why she would. Wasn't it good if he had a godfather? As wonderful as the Weasleys had been to let him stay with them last August, they weren't_ his_ family. They were _Ron's_ family. And there were so many of them that the Weasleys certainly didn't need an eighth child dragging along. Better he have someone of his own.

Like his godfather, who despite never having met, made Harry filled with glee.

The whole gaggle of them stepped into the floo, handfuls of powder in their hands. Harry hadn't known multiple people could floo at once, but he trusted that they weren't about to all get set on fire. "Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore announced, the others quickly chanting it. Not wanting to be left behind, Harry tossed his powder and shouted the words.

The world seemed to spin, and Harry watched with amusement as they passed dozens of fireplaces. The floo made him dizzy in a way flying a broom never had, but it was funny to look into people's houses. You could tell a lot about a person by what was in front of their fireplace. As they whirled about, Harry spotted a few cats warming themselves, a fat old man sleeping in a chair, and two people he was fairly sure were naked. Maybe that was why he landed with a bright blush to his cheeks.

The landing was rough, and Harry struggled to right himself, jostled on every side by his companions. Immediately, he felt a woman's hand on his shoulder. He looked up, prepared to thank Mrs. Weasley, but found Professor Watson instead. For some reason, that made him blush deeper. She didn't notice though. In fact, she hardly seemed to notice she was holding onto him at all, even as she guided him from the floo.

"Visitors aren't supposed to enter through the floo," she whispered in her ear. "But it's better than the visitor's entrance. This way you can keep your wand. Still, don't use it unless you have to. Best not to attract any more attention than is necessary."

Harry wasn't quite sure what she meant at first, but then he realized people were staring at them—at him. He wondered why, and then remembered he was famous. But still, how did they all know who he was? It was early in the morning, so there weren't too many people about. Everyone they passed though, turned to stare, as if they were hoping they could see the scar through his bangs. It made Harry nervous and he flattened his hair the best he could. He hated it when people stared at his scar. It was just a scar, just a reminder that his parents were dead. Yet people looked at it, looked at him, and seemed to ooze joy, not pity. Of course he hated it. The worst day of Harry's life was the best day for everyone else.

Except, perhaps, Sirius Black.

Harry followed his professors through the ministry, noting their quick pace probably had something to do with him. He was in part grateful, though he also wished he had more time to take in the sights. The Ministry of Magic was beautiful. Harry hadn't even known there was a magical government until a few weeks back, but he'd expected it to be something small and disorganized. This however… hundreds of tiles lined the walls. A grand statue stood in the center of the atrium, surrounded by floating fires and fountains. Best of all, there was magic everywhere he looked. Paper airplanes flew about giddily. Witches stood in pairs, chatting as they ran wands over their hair. It was beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. Or maybe it was beautiful because it was overwhelming. Harry wasn't entirely sure.

They led Harry through the elevators and then down a flight of stairs. Professor Watson seemed to rush Harry from level nine to level ten in such a manner that even Dumbledore seemed surprised. But then she said something with her eyes, something Dumbledore understood, and they moved on. Harry didn't understand it, but wasn't given time to dwell either. They came to a stop in front of two large, imposing doors. A chill seemed to seep out of them. It wasn't the kind of chill which made his body cold, however. No, it was the kind of chill which settled in the pit of his soul. For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd ever be happy again. He wondered why he should even _want_ to be happy again. Surely happiness was just a lie.

"_Expecto patronum_," Professor Watson whispered, and a her little silver dog jumped from her wand. Warmth filled Harry, and he wondered, slightly giddy, if the dog had a name. He knew the perfect name for it after all, even if it was a bit simple and childish. Hope. The dog should be called Hope.

"Stay with Harry," Professor Watson ordered the patronus. Harry didn't understand how a spell could obey her, but it clearly did. The dog ran circles around his feet. Harry had never quite liked dogs, not Marge's dogs, at least, but he liked Hope. He had the overwhelming desire to pet her, but resisted. If it turned out that you couldn't actually touch a patronus, Harry would feel quite dumb for trying.

"Jean," Professor Dumbledore sounded a bit flustered. "I doubt the Wizengamot would much approve of a patronus joining us for this trial."

"Well, if they want to have dementors floating about, I think they'll much appreciate it. We all have dark memories, don't we? Best to leave them in the past, not let them influence our decisions today."

Once again, Harry got the distinct impression that there was much more to the conversation than the words they said. But Harry was a child and therefore used to adults having conversations he wasn't truly a part of. So he let it be. Or maybe he was just distracted by Dumbledore pushing open the doors.

The courtroom was filled with people. Each one of them wore the same purple robes and when Harry looked, he could see Dumbledore conjuring the same for himself. Momentarily Harry wondered if he needed to look like that too, but Professors Watson and Snape, as well as Mrs. Weasley, made no move to dress up, so he figured he was fine.

He didn't feel fine though, especially not when everyone in the room turned to look at him. The hundreds of beady eyes made Harry feel small. They were looking at him like he was some sort of hero, a legend like Merlin. But he wasn't. He was just a twelve-year-old boy. He felt fake, like a fraud. It didn't matter that he'd never asked to be The Boy Who Lived. He still felt like he was wearing a hat that didn't fit him.

"Come on, Harry," Professor Watson whispered, leading him over to a series of benches. They were empty, empty except for one man. His eyes were older than his face, and he was dressed in shabby, old robes. His green eyes grew wide as they landed on Harry, but it felt different from the rest of the crowd. This man made no move to his forehead, gave no hint of wanting to see the scar. Instead, he stared at Harry's hair of all things.

"Of course you'd be here," Professor Snape snarled. "Come to see your partner in crime get away with murder once more?"

Harry didn't know what Snape was talking about, but he never paid much attention to what Snape was saying.

"Leave your pettiness for another time, Snape. Today is about justice, not revenge," Professor Watson snapped and Harry couldn't hide his grin. He'd never seen anyone talk back to Professor Snape before. It was the most wonderful sight in the world, especially because Snape didn't seem to know what to do next.

"Harry, this is Remus Lupin. He was a friend of your parents—and Sirius as well," Professor Watson introduced.

Mr. Lupin seemed almost surprised that she knew who he was, but Harry didn't ask why. Instead, he held out his hand, blushing slightly, "Oh! It's nice to meet you, Mr. Lupin."

For some reason, Mr. Lupin was hesitant to take Harry's hand. But the grief in his eyes, as well as the joy, was clear when he finally did, "I haven't seen you since you were a baby. You look just like your father. Except for your eyes. You have your mother's eyes."

He'd heard it before, of course, but it felt different coming from someone he knew had been friends with his parents. It made him beam with pride and ache with loss. He didn't know how you could miss people you'd never known, but Harry certainly did.

Dumbledore tapped his wand and the sound resonated like a drum. It made Harry jump, but Professor Watson just pulled him down. Once they were seated, Dumbledore began, "I must thank you all for assembling so quickly and discreetly. It appears there has been a miscarriage of justice and it is this body's solemn duty to right such a wrong. Yesterday afternoon, our second year Defense Against the Dark Arts students were learning how to recognize an animagus, when, much to everyone's surprise, the rat of one Ronald Bilius Weasley, turned into a man, a man since identified as Peter Pettigrew."

This whole thing felt very formal to Harry, so he was surprised when people started shouting.

"He's dead!

"Merlin's beard!"

"Bumbling old fool!"

Dumbledore tapped his wand again, waiting for everyone to be silent. Then he continued as if none of the (very rude) interruptions had ever happened at all. "As I was saying, this animagus was revealed to be none other than Peter Pettigrew, _presumed_ dead at the hands of one Sirius Black, then heir, now Lord, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Since Mr. Pettigrew is alive, we as a court have no choice but to vacate that conviction. Furthermore, Mr. Pettigrew was found in possession of the Dark Mark, and as such, I, as Chief Warlock, feel we need a full examination of the matter. It is to that end… Yes Lord Malfoy?"

Harry hadn't noticed it, but the slimy older Malfoy had lit his wand, as if raising his hand to speak. Once recognized, he stood slowly, using his cane for dramatic effect. "Chief Warlock, as proxy for House Black until my son, the presumed heir, I take these matters quite seriously. I must ask, therefore, why we've been joined in attendance by a child and who it is that has cast a patronus. For, surely you know, it is illegal to perform spells on the floor of the Wizengamot."

Harry looked anxiously at Professor Watson. Was she going to get arrested for using a patronus? She didn't seem worried though, which relaxed Harry some. He liked the little silver terrier. It made the room not so cold, and though he had yet to actually see these so-called dementors, he trusted her when she said they were around.

"Lord Malfoy, you are, of course, correct. However, Professor Watson has cast her patronus at my own request and she is not, technically, upon the Wizengamot floor. She is in the benches. And so long as this court sees fit to demand the presence of dementors when dealing with Azkaban detainees, I will see fit to defend one of my students in whatever manner I see best. Surely you cannot deny Mr. Potter his right to be here. These matters concern him most especially. However, he is still young, and as such, the patronus is most fitting. Now, if there aren't any more objections…." He didn't actually pause long enough for any more objections to be raised. "Then, as I was saying, due to these recent revelations, I have taken the liberty of summoning Lord Black to this court to provide his version of events. Though he has volunteered to submit to testimony under Veritaserum, his history of service to the auror's office disqualifies him. Still, he will be bound to his oaths the way all of us are. Bring the prisoner forward."

The floor shifted, and a large, spiked cage sprung up out of the ground. In it was a man, or Harry thought he was a man. He had long, ragged black hair and a rather frightening expression. He reminded Harry a bit of Aunt Marge's dog Ripper when the creature had mauled a squirrel, and it made the boy squirm. Was this really his godfather? He looked so… scary. He didn't look the way Harry imagined a godfather should. He looked like a criminal, though, maybe, that was not done out of choice.

Sirius Black scanned the assembled court disdainfully. Then, his eyes set upon Harry. The boy's heart clenched in his chest. There was something in Sirus's gaze, something Harry swore might just be love. He didn't know if he'd ever been looked at that way before; it made him want to cry.

"James," Sirius whispered, then his eyes flicked upwards, and he smiled widely. "Moony."

Harry saw Remus Lupin squirm a bit, looking away. The rejection must have stung, because Sirius looked away quickly. Harry, though, found he couldn't look anywhere besides his godfather, even as Dumbledore moved things along.

"Sirius Black, you stand accused of the following crimes. One count of conspiracy to the murder of James and Lily Potter and the attempted murder of Harry Potter. Twelve counts of murder for the muggles killed on Halloween 1981, and the attempted murder of Peter Pettigrew that same night. How do you plead?"

The man didn't seem to register at first what Dumbledore was saying, and Harry's heart fell. Something was wrong with his godfather. Maybe it was the years in prison. Or maybe he really was a madman. One way or another, something was wrong with him, and if something was wrong with him, then Harry and he couldn't be a family. It crushed him

But then Sirius actually spoke, "Attempted… You've found him! You've caught the rat?"

"Ah, so you were aware of Peter Pettigrew's status as an unregistered animagus."

Sirius waved it off, "Of course I knew. I helped him become one. But you've caught him. Has he been kissed? Has he been executed? I'll see him dead for what he did to Lily and James."

Besides Harry, Professor Watson rubbed her temples and whispered, "Stop being a bloody fool and shut up for once in your life."

"Mr. Black. I'll remind you that you are on trial and everything you say is being recorded. How do you plead on the aforementioned charges."

"Innocent. Of course I'm innocent… well, not of trying to kill Peter. He had that coming though. He killed Lily and James."

Dumbledore seemed bitterly frustrated by that. It took Harry a minute to realize why, though. Wanting Pettigrew dead for betraying his parents seemed so obvious, Harry had momentarily forgotten it was still murder. Suddenly, he had a queasy feeling in his gut. Even if his godfather was innocent of all those other deaths, he would still be a murderer. He would still be going back to prison and Harry would have no family all over again.

"If you are certain then of your culpability, please, Mr. Black, state for the record the manner in which you attempted to murder Mr. Pettigrew."

"The manner in which I…" Sirius shook his head and laughed. "What does that bloody well mean?"

Dumbledore sighed, cast one look over at Harry, then looked back to Sirius. "What spells did you cast in order to facilitate the death of Peter Pettigrew on the night of October 31st. Was it the Killing Curse, or something different?"

"Oh," Sirius seemed a bit confused and he too looked over at Harry. The boy felt a little bit like crying, but he smiled in encouragement. He didn't think his godfather could be a bad person, so he would support him until the end.

"I didn't actually get that far. I wanted him to confess first."

Dumbledore sat straighter at his bench and Harry knew instantly that what Sirius had just said was a good thing. He didn't know why, but he didn't care either.

"You may wish to know, Mr. Black, that by law one must cast a spell or perform another action with the express purpose of killing another to be charged with murder or attempted murder. So I shall ask you once more, for the record, how do you plead on that charge."

"Oh. Then not guilty I suppose. Not guilty on all charges."

"This would be a great deal easier if the Wizengamot permitted solicitors," Professor Watson muttered, possibly to herself. Still, Harry and Mr. Lupin both chuckled, and even Mrs. Weasley seemed to agree.

No doubt Professor Dumbledore would have as well. Harry watched as the Professor took a deep breath, straightened his robes, then continued, "Very well. Do you have any evidence to support your claim to innocence?"

"Why don't you bloody well look at my wand and see all the spells I didn't cast? That is, if you didn't snap it without asking these questions eleven fucking years ago."

Mrs. Weasley gasped, reaching out to cover Harry's ears. Professor Watson, however, interrupted her by leaning forward at just that moment. Harry didn't think that was a coincidence and smirked.

"Mr. Black, I need not remind you that there is a child in the gallery, do restrain yourself," Professor Dumbledore chided. Then, he turned to someone in the gallery, the woman who'd been in his office the night before. "It just so happens that your wand was preserved by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madame Bones, if I may… _Priori incantato_."

From out of the two wands came a blistering _crack_, almost like a gunshot. It made Harry jump, but no one else seemed bothered by it.

"Ah, a simple disapparition charm," Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Presumably to the scene at which he was arrested. But I shall go back one more, for the sake of posterity…"

Professor Dumbledore tapped the wand again. This time a baby came out. Not a real baby of course, just an image of a baby. It looked fairly normal, though it seemed to be crying. The only part of it which was strange was the dark light pulsing from the baby's forehead. Harry had never imagined that darkness could pulse, but that was exactly what it looked like. How strange. Idly he wondered, _I wonder what sort of spell makes a fake baby with a dark forehead. _

Harry looked up and he realized that everyone was staring at him once more. Oh. Now he understood.

"And a diagnostic spell performed on an infant Mr. Potter, before Mr. Black went to the scene of the crime. Clearly then, Mr. Black neither attacked Mr. Pettigrew or those muggles."

"Objection, Chief Warlock. He could simply have performed the spells with another wand," a man shouted, lighting his wand. Harry didn't recognize him, though he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe the father of one of his classmates? He certainly looked like a thin-nosed, overbearing Slytherin.

"Recognized, Lord Nott. Though that does seem unlikely as no other wands were found on his person and this wand was. Still, I will rephrase. Clearly Mr. Black did not cast any deadly spells with his own wand, the only wand found with him at the scene. Mr. Black, do you have any other evidence to support your innocence."

"Why does he have to prove everything himself?" Harry whispered to Professor Watson.

"Because the wizarding world is in desperate need of criminal justice reform. I'll give you a book to read about it later."

Harry sighed. That didn't sound like a book he'd find very interesting. Hermione might, though. Maybe he could get Hermione to read it for him and then explain. For the moment though, he'd just go with the simple answer—the Ministry of Magic was just stupid.

"You could ask Peter bloody… I mean blimey… Pettigrew. He knows all the truth of it."

"Yes, I must say that it does seem confusing to be having these two trials in order," the Minister for Magic grumbled. "Can't we just bring him in, give him the Veritaserum, and be done with the matter?"

"Minister, that's not how these things work."

The Minister quite literally waved Dumbledore off, instead turning to the assembled court, "All in favor of just getting this over with by bringing Pettigrew in and subjecting him, who has been deemed too feeble minded to resist, to the use of Veritaserum."

Nearly everyone in the court lit their wands. Harry sat forward in his seat, excited that they could move it along, but Professor Watson seemed less pleased. She bit her lip and shook her head, "And so this is how liberty dies, to thunderous applause."

"Are you quoting a famous author?"

"Star Wars, actually," Professor Watson seemed to blush. Harry was just surprised that she knew what Star Wars was. Of course, she was muggleborn. But Harry had never actually seen it himself. He'd heard it once or twice through the slits in his cupboard, but he didn't remember that scene. Professor Watson must really know the movies to be able to quote them. It was impressive and strange at the same time.

Harry didn't get a chance to ask her what other famous movies she'd seen, though, because a commotion broke out upon the floor. Peter Pettigrew didn't enter through the ground as Sirius had. Instead, he was bound tightly and brought forward by a pair of guards. He looked pathetic, shaking so hard his chains rattled. But Harry couldn't blame him for being scared, especially as Sirius started shouting at him.

He couldn't blame Pettigrew, but he certainly didn't feel any pity for him either.

"The Veritaserum has been administered?" Dumbledore asked the guard, who nodded. "Very well then. Mr. Black, please, calm down so we may discover the truth of these matters. Mr. Pettigrew, do you know why you're here?"

"I kill, killed Lily and James."

Harry had known that already, but still, hearing it aloud, it made his heart clench. His breath seize. Voldemort cast the curse, but this was the man who'd killed his parents. And Harry hated him. Hated him like he'd never hated anyone in his life. In fact, he hated him so much it frightened him. But he didn't know how to fight back the anger. It was all Harry could do to keep from standing up and shouting at the man himself.

"Mr. Pettigrew, please state, for the record, what exactly you mean by that. Did you cast the curse that killed them?"

"No."

"In what manner did you bring about their deaths?"

Harry watched the man strain his neck, as if trying to fight the truth serum. But he was just to weak. "I told the Dark Lord their whereabouts."

"Were you the Secret Keeper for Mr. and Mrs. Potter?"

"Ye.. yesss."

"Had you taken the Dark Mark before or after they made you their Secret Keeper?"

"After. I got it as a re…reward for telling the Dark Lord their location."

"So, you admit to having revealed to Lord Voldemort where the Potters were hiding when you knew he would track them down and kill them?"

"Objection—leading," one of the Wizengamot members shouted. Not that it mattered. At that moment, Pettigrew squeaked.

"Yes! Yes! Alright? I knew he'd kill them, but he would have killed me too. The Dark Lord would have killed me too if I hadn't told him!"

"And did you then proceed to frame Sirius Black for that murder and the murder of twelve innocent muggles?"

"Yes!"

"Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore didn't look like the friendly but odd professor anymore. He seemed to ooze power. "Peter Pettigrew is charged with twelve counts of murder, two counts of conspiracy to murder, one count of conspiracy to attempted murder, one count of being a marked member of the order known as the Death Eaters, and one count of being an illegal animagus. All who deem him innocent?"

Harry had expected the room to remain shrouded in darkness, but instead, a number of wands lit up. Harry's heart sunk even as he tried to count them. "Why would anyone think he's innocent?"

"I doubt they think he's innocent. They just don't wish to see him deemed guilty," Professor Watson explained. Of course, it wasn't much of an explanation at all, but Harry nevertheless understood. They didn't want to deem Pettigrew guilty because they approved of what he'd done.

"There are Death Eaters on the Wizengamot?"

"There are Death Eaters everywhere, Harry. Now watch. I believe we may have won it."

Harry was so startled, he shut up. Sure enough, when Dumbledore called for those who deemed Pettigrew guilty, the room turned very bright. Once again, he couldn't count them all, but Professor Dumbledore clearly could. He seemed almost to smile.

"Peter Pettigrew is found guilty on all charges and is to be remanded to an animagus-proof cell in Azkaban until sentencing."

"Please! No!" Pettigrew shrieked. "I have names! Names I can give you of Death Eaters. Some in this room. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Crouch! Barty Crouch's own son!"

"Crouch Junior is dead. And the others have all been cleared by this court by reason of the Imperius Curse," The Minister hissed.

"It was a lie. We all know it was a lie!" Pettigrew shouted as the guards dragged him away. "Moony. Padfoot! Help me. Help me! Harry please. Your father wouldn't want this. Pleaseeee."

Harry's heart clenched, but no longer with anger. Perhaps there was a bit of him that felt pity for Pettigrew after all. He was fairly certain that made him a bad son, but looking at the sadness in Professor Watson's eyes, he thought it might just make him a good person.

"And now, with this in mind, all those who find Sirius Black innocent of all charges?"

Dumbledore's gaze spread across the court, and, slowly but surely, every one of them raised their wands. Apparently this vote was not one they wanted to be on the wrong side of.

"Seeing as my grandfather is dead, I'll be voting for myself," Sirius quipped. Then he turned and winked at Harry. The boy couldn't have hid his smile if he wanted to, and he certainly didn't want to.

"Lord Black, you are cleared of all charges and released with the sincerest apologies of this court for this miscarriage of judgement. Guards, release Lord Black."

* * *

AN: Oh yeah, this is also the chapter when I went back and changed Hermione to being from early 2005 instead of late 2004 just so I could quote Star Wars. And honestly, I don't regret it at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all again for your support. This chapter was very much inspired by reviews, so I hope you enjoyed, and know I'm always reading your comments and adding new ideas.

* * *

Chapter 6

Hermione had forgotten how much she disliked Sirius Black.

When she was young, she'd found him reckless and rude. She'd tried her best to ignore it for Harry's sake. _'He did spend 12 years in prison,"_ she'd say. _"It must be hard to be locked up all the time."_

Still, Hermione had never forgotten how Sirius, instead of coming to Dumbledore and explaining himself, slashed his way into the Gryffindor dorm and broke Ron's leg trying to get to Scabbers. And now that she was an adult, Hermione knew it was worse than she'd ever guessed. Sirius Black had been twenty-one when he was arrested, and now he was the foremost case of arrested development.

Sirius downed his third fire whiskey and even Harry was beginning to look nervous. "Enough of me! Tell me 'bout your pranks Jame… Harry."

"Padfoot, perhaps we should call it a night," Remus suggested. Hermione bit her tongue. It was difficult to call it 'a night' at half-passed noon.

"I have been in prison for eleven years," Sirius's slow, careful enunciation proved how drunk he was. "I want to hear a story of my godson."

Hermione didn't miss the desperate look Harry gave her, but he was also desperate to please. "Ah, well, I tried to get int a duel last year."

Sirius's eyes lit up. "Did you win?"

"Well, he didn't actually show up. He sent Filch to catch us out of bed…He didn't though."

"Coward. Who was it?"

"Draco Malfoy. He's a Slytherin."

"Ha!" Sirius chortled. "I almost killed his father once. Would have done you a favor, clearly."

Remus sputtered. Hermione grimaced. Harry flickered from amused to horrified, visibly unsure how he was supposed to respond. Even Sirius seemed to realize that he'd gone too far, though he didn't exactly take it back. "He was a Death Eater, of course. Trying to kill me himself… Probably his wife Cissy asked him to. She's my cousin."

"You're related to Draco?"

"You are too, Harry. Good old Grandma Dorea Black. We're purebloods. Everyone loves incest."

Sirius tried to drink more, forgetting, clearly, that his glass was empty. Hermione decided enough was enough. The first time around she hadn't been there the day Sirius was released. She didn't regret that now.

"Harry, we should really get back to school. It was nice of Professor Dumbledore to let me escort you and your godfather to lunch, but students aren't supposed to leave campus in the middle of term."

"Hey! That's my best mate. You can't take him," Sirius scowled, wagging a finger. Hermione just glared. She really, really hated drunk men.

"While Harry is in Hogwarts's care, I certainly can," she snapped. "Harry, why don't you go stand by the floo. I'll be right there."

He'd looked uncomfortable, so Hermione would have expected Harry to make a run for it given the opportunity. She should have known better, though. Whatever obvious faults Sirius was putting on display, he was Harry's family, and nothing if not loyal. "Professor Watson, isn't Sirius my guardian now? Why can't I stay with him?"

Hermione must have looked ready to blow a gasket, though really, she was more upset with Sirius than Harry. Remus, however, had always been a sensible man and stepped in. "Those are the rules of Hogwarts, Harry. It's to keep people from getting terribly homesick. You and Sirius will have plenty of time together come the holidays, and you can write. Come on, I'll show you a spell to make your ink visible only to Sirius or me while Professor Watson and Sirius talk."

Harry was still reluctant to go, but he stood. Sirius did as well, pulling the boy into a tight hug and promising he'd write about a way they could get around the rules on family visits. Then Remus led Harry off, and Hermione was left alone with a living, breathing, and drunken, Sirius Black.

Sirius glared at her, "He doesn't have to listen to you. You're not his Mum."

"And you're not his best mate," she snapped back. Sirius was taller, older, and richer, but Hermione was a teacher. Maybe she'd only been a teacher for a week, but that was enough time to learn how to do righteous indignation well. (Not that she'd really needed to learn.)

"Listen to me, Sirius Black. And listen well. That is Harry Potter, not James Potter. Do you understand? He is not your friend. He never will be your friend, and trying to mold him into a replacement for James will only break both your hearts. James is dead. Lily is dead. And that is tragic and I wish, how I wish, that I could fix that too, but I can't. That's not how this works. No one can give Harry back his parents. No one can give you back James, do you understand?"

Sirius gritted his teeth, then smirked, "'Course I understand. I'm not an idiot. And I'm not drunk either. I know that's Harry."

"Then act like it. Legally, you should have been Harry's guardian all along, but you weren't there for him. You handed him to Hagrid, to Dumbledore, and rushed off to murder your friend. And I understand anger. I understand it well. But this is already your second chance—you won't get a third. It's time to suck it up, become a functioning adult, and then, only then, will you actually deserve Harry. Because that boy… he's been through more than you can possible imagine. And he doesn't need some drunken fool encouraging him to play pranks! He needs adults he can _trust_. Adults he can _depend_ on. Because these challenges, they're not over. They're only beginning and you… you… just have to be an adult, Mr. Black. Because Harry cannot afford for you to fuck this up."

For a moment, Sirius just stared at her, and Hermione, despite herself, felt chastised. Which was stupid because she was the one chastising, but still. It was hard not to think of Sirius as the adult and her the child. But that wasn't the case. Sirius needed to learn he wasn't a teenager anymore. Maybe Hermione did as well. So she stood her ground, not blinking as he held her gaze.

Sirius reached across the table, grabbed her by the small of her back, and pulled her close to him. Before she could even process what was happening, he kissed her. Hermione only opened her mouth because she was horrified, but he took that as an invitation, slipping his tongue past her teeth and clenching his fingers around her shirt.

Finally, Hermione regained her senses and pulled away, "_Volatilis Lutum_!"

You didn't have Ginny as a sister-in-law and walk away having learned nothing. Immediately bats, wild, erratic creatures, erupted from Sirius's nose. Hermione didn't stay to offer the counter-curse, just stormed over to Harry's side and disapparated them both to Hogsmeade.

* * *

When they landed, Harry pulled away from her, drawing his wand. Immediately, Hermione knew she was in trouble. She knew that look in Harry's eyes. It was the one he reserved for Death Eaters and Umbridge. But why? What had she done to earn such righteous indignation from a child of twelve?

Harry's wand quivering in his hand. Hermione doubted he was strong enough to hurt her; Harry clearly doubted it as well. Still, Harry had long run into fights without any concern for if he'd win them. If the cause was just, Harry would always fight. Hermione normally admired that about him. Now, it was just annoying.

"What did you do to him?"

Oh, now Hermione understood. Admittedly, that probably had looked bad. "It's a simple hex. I swear, he's not hurt and besides—its what he deserves for kissing a married woman."

"You're married?"

Shit. Why were children so… not quite astute more… troublesome. They had the unique knack for getting entirely derailed by the one slip-of-tongue you hoped they'd miss.

But Harry hadn't missed it, and Hermione had to explain. It was hard though. Harder than Hermione could ever admit. "No, I suppose I'm not… not anymore. My husband died last month…."

Harry's arm drooped by his side. A look of knowing grief crossed over his face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

A month, nearly. She'd been there nearly a month, but still, it amazed her how the pain came in waves. Saying it aloud, saying it to Harry of all people, it suddenly felt real. Real in a way it never had before. Ron was gone. Not dead, but as good as. There was a little red-headed kid in his place and Hermione felt sick for even considering him that way. Her Ron was dead, gone, never coming back. She'd long given up any hope of returning to her own time, and besides, the changes she'd made would inevitably ripple out. The future was no longer hers. If there ever was another Hermione Weasley, she'd be a different person, with a different husband. Her husband was gone—forever.

And it hurt. Oh how it hurt. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she pushed them back. Harry was a student. It wouldn't do to cry in front of a student. It wouldn't do to cry at all. It hurt a lot less if she didn't let herself feel anything.

"I wouldn't expect you to. Most people don't. Still, it was rude of Sirius to kiss me, incredibly rude, so he deserved it. But I promise, he's not actually hurt, and I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise. I have only your best intentions at heart, Harry."

Perhaps too much so. A part of Hermione feared that there was nothing in her heart but helping Harry. If she lost him, she'd be left empty.

"Okay, Professor," Harry's voice was hardly more than a whisper. That wasn't exactly a good thing, Hermione knew that, but he hadn't tried to curse her. Apparently she'd made him pity her enough that he'd forgotten he was supposed to dislike her.

For the moment, it would have to do, though if Hermione wanted to keep Harry's confidences, and she certainly did, she'd need to work harder. "Come on, I know a shortcut back to school."

She started walked in the direction of Honeydukes, and Harry followed close behind. His head, though, seemed to spin, dancing from one place to another. "Professor, where are we?"

"Hogsmeade? Can't you see the castle?"

"Oh! I've never been here before. It's very pretty."

Was it? Hermione hadn't paid much attention. It was pretty in the snow, certainly. She smirked as she remembered her Harry's first trip to the village. He'd done some rather amusing things with the snow and Draco Malfoy even if, in hindsight, they were also a bit mean. Not that the Slytherin hadn't had it coming.

"You would have seen it if you hadn't flown a car to school, you know. The carriages for the upper-years come right through here."

Harry had the good sense to blush. "How do _you_ know about that?"

_You'd be surprised what I know about you, Harry. Or horrified. Probably more of the latter, to be honest. A year of camping, and months of just us two, it definitely brought us closer than I would have liked._

"Hogwarts isn't a large school, Harry. Even if it's bigger than you and your little trio. News like that, it gets around. If I'm being honest—and I can only be since I'm not technically on-duty right now—if I'm being honest, it is a little bit amusing. But didn't it ever cross your mind to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

"You sound like Hermione," Harry muttered, kicking up dirt. It stopped the line of questioning though. If there was one thing Hermione couldn't do it was resemble herself too much.

"Yes, well, Miss Granger is quite clever."

Harry smiled at that, nodding, "Yeah she's the best… why are we going into a sweet's shop?"

He sounded hopeful, and for a second, Hermione considered bribing him with treats. Surely he'd love her if she let him return to school with pockets full of licorice wands and cauldron cakes. Madame Pomfrey, however, would be none-t-pleased with her. Besides, Hermione liked to think she could earn Harry's trust the old-fashioned way. Lupin had, after all.

(Though she remembered, after a second, how Lupin gave Harry quite a bit of chocolate, and bought him three chocolate frogs, since no doubt he'd share with his friends.)

Then, she led him down into the cellar, and through the secret passageway. Harry gazed with awe, "How did you know this was here?"

"I'm a Defense professor. I should hope I know about any holes in the castle's security," she smirked. It was a bit fun sometimes to use her knowledge and show off. Hermione didn't like how much she liked to show off, but it didn't make it any less true.

"There are other secret passageways?"

Hermione laughed, but didn't deign to answer. Not that she was really given a chance to. At that moment, she caught sight of two floating orbs of light in the passageway ahead of her. The orbs stopped. She stopped.

"Misters Weasley," she sighed. It was impossible to make out the culprits with the glare, but there was no one else, so far as she knew, who was aware of these passages.

"She's a bloody mind reader, I'm telling you," one of them—Fred she thought—hissed, lowering his wand.

"Trelawney can retire I imagine," the other answer, looking sheepishly. "Alright there, Harry? Ron told us you'd been kidnapped by the Defense Professor again and we figured we should go investigate. Didn't we, George?"

"Exactly, Fred. But clearly they're alright, if they're coming back from Honeydukes. So we best just be on our way then, hadn't we. Lots of essays to write."

"Including one on why it's not safe for two fourteen-year-old boys to leave the castle whenever they feel like it, I imagine," Hermione told them, her gaze level. Beside her, Harry snickered. Fred and George didn't seem to know if they should applaud her for her wit, or complain about the detention.

"But seeing as you're here, I trust you can escort Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower. Mischief managed, I would say?"

The twins gaped quite obviously now, and Hermione got her turn to smirk. Maybe it was foolish, playing around with her knowledge like that, but it was hard not to. Not just because she liked people thinking her clever. It was also just fun, and honestly, with her husband dead, her friends essentially back in nappies, and her family unaware of her existence… Hermione needed to find fun wherever she could.

* * *

Why she ended up in the Headmaster's office, therefore, she really didn't know. It wasn't quite what she'd call a fun place. Most of his odds and ends were useless, or perhaps she was just too dumb to know what they did. Mostly, though, Hermione suspected they were useless. Idle items meant to make him look intelligent and important, but nothing more.

"We need to destroy the horcruxes, next," she told Dumbledore, fiddling with one of the useless items. "But I wouldn't dare try fiendfyre, but we can't get into the Chamber of Secrets without a Parseltongue. I hate to use Harry though. Perhaps he can survive a basilisk's lair, but he shouldn't have to."

"And yet, I think he must," Dumbledore sighed. "You know, I can only assume, of the prophecy? Ultimately, Harry and Harry alone must be Voldemort's doom. Your quest to protect him from the worst of it is admirable, but I am unsure it is wise. If you were to go with Harry into the Chamber, you would be able to protect him, but the prophecy would be placated."

Hermione slumped back into her chair, rubbing her temples. "It's wrong. It's illegal to put children in dangerous situations because it's wrong. We could both go to Azkaban for discussing this!"

"Life, I'm afraid, is dangerous, and all the more so while Voldemort still lives, whatever form that may be. I have confidence in your ability to protect Harry. From what you've told me, you did it splendidly well as a child. Why should you think you would do worse now?"

He was stoking her pride and Hermione knew it. Still, it worked. She knew Harry was perfectly capable of handling things other people his age couldn't. Maybe he'd had to learn how to be strong, but he'd been glad for it in the end. And as wrong as it felt to include him, it felt wrong to exclude him as well. Especially when she didn't know what other choice she had.

"There isn't any real rush. With the diary safe, and Sirius innocent, there's nothing from my timeline that will be a threat for another two years. Let me explore our other options, there may be something I missed the first time around. It wasn't easy doing research while on the run from Voldemort."

"I wouldn't imagine it is. Take all the time you need, I have waited eleven years for a sign of my next move. But, I hope I do not need to remind you, that the changes you have already enacted may well have set in motion events neither of us could predict."

Logically, Hermione knew that, but she didn't know where she'd gone wrong. Of course, that would be exactly the problem—she wouldn't know if she had gone wrong. It was a sobering thought. Frightening, even. Her deepest fear, that she'd make the future worse, billowed back up. But she pushed it back down. Back down with her grief over her lost husband. With the pain of seeing her friends and knowing they didn't care about her at all.

"But the future is a happy thing. For it is not written in ink and loves to be surprised," Dumbledore's cheerful tenor felt almost like a farce, but Hermione accepted it. Joy wherever she could find it, after all, and if she was going to push away her emotions, she had to let something in.

* * *

"Come in," she called out later that night. Hermione wasn't expecting anyone, and didn't think she'd forgotten about another detention, still, it wasn't like she was just going to ignore it. Most likely it was a student come with some desperate question about an assignment. A good student too, or else they'd not be doing work on a Saturday night.

How wrong she was—two pairs of red hair bobbed through the door. Hermione laid down her quill, looking up at the twins in surprise. "Finished with your essay already?"

"Yes indeed," Fred—she was nearly certain of it, Fred always spoke first—smirked. Hermione was immediately suspicious, and proven correct when the teen laid out an empty piece of parchment upon the desk.

Now Hermione wasn't an idiot. She had a very strong suspicion that this was not, simply, a blank piece of parchment. That didn't mean though that she was going to play right into the twins' hands. "Well, this is a rather extensive essay. You needn't write so much."

"This, Professor Watson, is the only essay we've ever needed," George insisted, tapping it with his wand. He didn't offer the password, though, so it just spit out random words.

**Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs ask you to leave this alone, woman. **

**Mr. Wormtail would like to know if your mother never taught you not to touch what wasn't yours?**

**Mr. Moony would like inquire as to what exactly you intend to do with this parchment anyway? **

**Mr. Prongs would add that he knows what you do in the broom cupboard and is quite disappointed in you.**

**Mr. Padfoot would like to add that he would, however, gladly join you in the broom cupboard.**

Hermione didn't know how the map worked, but she had to believe Sirius's message was just a coincidence. Still, in like of the man's forward advances at lunch, it was a rather frightening coincidence. Mostly though, Hermione was just embarrassed. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she noticed Fred and George snickering. Great, just what she needed, two fourteen-year-old students thinking about her sex life.

"Well, isn't that a rude little toy," Hermione chuckled, except it was more of a chortle and she knew it. She grimaced, shaking her head. "What are you playing at, boys?"

"You see—"

"We think—"

"That you know—"

"As well as we do—"

"That this is not—"

"Some toy—"

"And furthermore—"

"Upon realizing that—"

"We noticed something—"

"Quite peculiar—"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," the finally chanted together. Like magic (because it _was _magic) the map unfolded. It was such a strange item, always made Hermione a bit dizzy. When it first opened, all she could see was the outline of the school, and hundreds of little names floating in the background. But then Fred tapped his wand against a certain corridor, the one where they were, and it zoomed forward, like a bad roller coaster ride, until the names were large enough they could read.

_Shit. How did I not think of this? _

"So tell me, Professor, why this map—"

"Which is never wrong—"

"Seems to think we're standing next to Hermione Granger?"


	7. Chapter 7

Hello! Feel free to skip, but I wanted to mention a few things.

Firstly, I just want to thank everyone for your kind responses. It's very flattering and makes me want to write more like nothing else.

Secondly, I don't want to embarrass anyone, but I've noticed in my stats some readers who appear to not have English as your first language. Quite honestly, this makes me happier than anything because I really appreciate the effort you're making. If it is helpful to anyone, I speak Spanish and French (and Latin, though that's rather useless), and am always looking for opportunities to practice with native speakers, so feel free to review in your native tongue. Even if you speak some language other than French and Spanish, you can still review however you're most comfortable and I'll figure it out. I just really appreciate the support and want to make sure everyone feels welcome.

Thirdly, in response to the guest reviewer who mentioned it should be Hermione Weasley, according to the wikia, she never changed her name, though her children are hyphenated. I didn't realize that until I looked it up myself, though, so I understand what you were thinking.

Lastly, I'm considering making the move to updating once or twice a week on a set schedule instead of whenever I finish a new chapter. This will come in handy as I am busy over the the holidays and have periods where I write a lot and periods where I write nothing at all. If anyone has any opinions on this, however, I will gladly hear them.

Lastly-lastly thank you again, and enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 7

"O_bliviate_." That was it. Hermione was done with silly mistakes.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Well, Hermione hadn't expected _that_. Nor had she expected three second-years to come bursting out of nowhere. Her younger self scrambled to grab her wand. Ron dashed towards his brothers. Harry, however, didn't move, just held his wand high, betrayal in his eyes.

* * *

Harry was terrified. Last year, he'd been happy for the points Neville won, happy they'd won the House Cup, but he hadn't understood it. Now he did. Now he got just how hard it was to stand up to a friend—not that Professor Watson was actually a friend. But she should have been. Harry was seriously concerned for Professor Dumbledore. Why could he not stop hiring evil professors?

"What did you do to them?" Ron squeaked. Harry had to admit, he was worried he'd done something bad by disarming Professor Watson mid-spell. Fred and George just seemed to be standing there, looking confused, without any of the normal light in their eyes.

"It's a mild memory spell. Let them sleep it off and they'll be fine by morning."

"Fine?" Ron shrieked. "You wiped their memories!"

Was that what the spell did? Harry hadn't known it. It definitely wasn't part of their charms curriculum.

"Just the last few hours, I swear." Professor Watson looked right at Harry. "This really isn't as bad as it looks. You just… you just walked in at a bad time."

Harry remembered earlier that day when she'd mentioned her husband. She'd looked… she'd just looked sad. Just like she'd looked when telling Harry of Pettigrew's betrayal, of the reason Voldemort had come after him. But it had to be a lie. She was clearly evil. Evil people couldn't be sad. They were just… evil.

"Harry, we need to get Professor Dumbledore," Hermione insisted. She always was the sensible one, even if she sounded panicked (Which reflected quite well how Harry felt himself.) He'd faced evil professors before and almost died. Would have died if Dumbledore hadn't showed up. They definitely needed help.

"Go get him. Harry and I will keep her restrained," Ron growled. Harry didn't know the last time he'd seen his friend so angry, it was almost scary, but Professor Watson just chuckled. "What are you laughing at?"

The professor said nothing, yet Harry suddenly had a bad feeling about staying here and just waiting for Dumbledore. After all, Professor Watson was a powerful witch, and they were just second years. She probably knew how to do things Harry wouldn't even imagine.

"Oh! I know. _Petrificus totalus."_

Harry watched as Professor Watson dropped, and felt much safer. Hermione, however, seemed to realize what she'd just done.

"Oh my God. I've attacked a teacher!" She gasped, eyes wide and frightened. "We can't tell Dumbledore. I'll be expelled!"

"Oh snap out of it Hermione," Ron howled. "She attacked Fred and George! We're going to get metals for services to the school for this."

Harry wasn't feeling nearly as confident as Ron, not considering they had been out after curfew. Still, he wondered sometimes how Hermione could be so smart and so dumb at the same time. This was a disaster and it was better to find Dumbledore then to just leave her petrified on the floor. And Dumbledore had always seemed very fair, so maybe he'd understand. If not, Harry would just say he did it. As much as he hated the idea of getting expelled, and couldn't even bear the thought of the Dursley's smirking faces, he would rather go himself than let Hermione take the blame.

"I'll get Dumbledore. He'll listen to me," Harry told his friends. Before he left, though, he snuck a glance at Professor Watson. Frozen as she was, the emotion in her face was unmistakable. She was angry, furious actually. Harry took that as proof that she really was evil and got up the courage to go. Surely, with everything they'd seen, he couldn't be wrong. Everything would be fine.

* * *

Everything was not fine. Harry, in his hast, hadn't thought to take the cloak with him. He'd barely made it out of the Defense corridor before he ran—quite literally—into absolutely the worst person he could have run into.

"Potter," Snape spat, pushing Harry hard enough the boy nearly toppled. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. How predictable. Strutting about the castle after dark, acting as if you own the place. Clearly Black has rubbed off on you already."

Instantly all thought of the unconscious professor flew from Harry's mind. Sirius? How did Snape know Sirius? Harry wasn't quite sure what he thought about his godfather, not after his behavior at lunch, but still, he was Harry's godfather. He was Harry's family. That was all that mattered. "Don't talk about Sirius like that!"

Snape's eyes were so dark there was only one emotion they expressed—anger. But Merlin's beard, they expressed it well. If this was anyone else that angry with him, Harry might even have been frightened. But this was _Snape,_ a right old git, so he couldn't bring himself to care.

Not even as Snape grabbed Harry's collar and practically lifted Harry off of the ground, "I will talk about that stuck-up murderer however I want. He may not have killed Pettigrew, but there is blood on his hands. Do you want to hear of the time he set a werewolf on a fellow student? Or perhaps how he eviscerated Agrippa Wilkes? No? Do the crimes of your sainted godfather scare you, Potter?"

Not really. Mostly, Harry didn't know what eviscerated meant, but he knew he despised Snape. Sirius was a good person who might have a bit of a drinking problem. But he was family. He was good.

Snape just tutted and began dragging Harry towards Professor Dumbledore's office. Considering that had been Harry's destination in the first place, he didn't fight too hard—only a little, just to spite Snape. The longer they walked, however, the more nervous Harry grew. This was the second time in a week Snape had caught him after a… misadventure. He knew from the whole flying-car incident that Snape didn't have the power to expel him, only McGonagall or Dumbledore, but still, Snape had the power to make Harry's life miserable. _Not that he doesn't do that anyway._

More importantly, though, was the little problem of the petrified teacher he'd left behind. Harry didn't want to tell Dumbledore what had happened in front of Snape. Snape may have saved his life the previous year, but Harry was fairly certain Snape would also jump at the first chance to see him gone from Hogwarts. Attacking a teacher, even for a good reason, was probably not a good way to spend a Saturday night.

But there was nothing Harry could do about it now. He thought back to the blank looks on Fred and George's faces; they needed help. Harry was the only one, it seemed, who could provide it. So he would, no matter the cost. And maybe, just maybe, it would turn out alright. Dumbledore hadn't much minded his fight with Quirrell, after all. He'd actually gained points for that.

Harry had just about prepared how he was going to explain everything when they got to Professor Dumbledore's office, but the moment they did, his thought went out the window.

"Sirius?"

"Harry!" His godfather smiled brightly, coming over to give Harry a tight hug. He stiffened a little, surprised more than upset, but Sirius noticed and pulled away. Concern darkened his gaze, and he turned to glare at Snape. "What have you done to my godson, Snivellus?"

"Sirius," Dumbledore cautioned.

"Oh, no, Professor. I say we let Black reveal to his godson exactly what kind of bully he really is. It would be quite educational."

"Bully! You want to talk about bullies, let's talk about seventh year when you set James on fire just because he'd finally gotten Lily to say yes!"

Harry's eyes doubled in size. Snape had set his father on fire? He'd known the man was wretched, but he'd never imagined _that_.

"Please. Do not think I'm ignorant of just how my robes so often 'disappeared' whenever I tried to take Lily somewhere. Potter was jealous from the beginning that Lily actually liked me."

Harry's mind spun. Snape and his mum? It was insane! What were they even talking about? A part of him knew this was definitely not the way two grown adults were supposed to behave. Still, he soaked up everything they said, all the ugly fights, because he was just so curious.

Unfortunately, or probably fortunately, Dumbledore cut them off, "Gentlemen! Can we not leave the rivalries of childhood where they belong? We have far more pressing matters to attend to _in the present_. Professor Snape, may I ask why you escorted Mr. Potter here? I just send word with Minerva to collect him, but I highly doubt you two crossed paths."

"Potter was already out of bed, Headmaster. Prancing around the corridors without any regards to the rules."

"Professor Dumbledore, you have to listen to me. I was coming to see you! Professor Watson attacked Fred and George!"

"What? Are you shitting me?"

"Lies, no doubt."

"Now, Harry, I highly doubt that," Dumbledore said calmly. "And Sirius, I must remind you not to use such language."

Harry wanted to scream. Why was Dumbledore commenting on Sirius swearing when Professor Watson was attacking students! "I'm not lying. Fred and George were whispering about something and then they snuck out. So Ron, Hermine and I snuck out using the, uh, you know… And we found them confronting Professor Watson, and then she attacked them! Ron said it's a memory spell but Fred and George are all confused looking, like they have no brains, so I disarmed her and Hermi… I petrified her so she couldn't get away and came to get you!"

Harry knew his words were a bit of a jumbled mess. He decided that was the reason all the adults just stared at him for a long time. Finally, though, when someone spoke, it was Snape of all people, "If you are going to lie, Potter, you should at least learn how to do so convincingly."

"I'm not lying!"

"We believe you, Harry, don't we?" Sirius insisted, crouching down so he was more at level with Harry. The boy's heart soared! Yes! Finally, he had someone who believed him. Someone who would always believe him, just like Uncle Vernon always believed Dudley. It was a wonderful feeling, one Harry knew he'd never grow sick of.

But unfortunately, Sirius's trust mattered very little compared to Dumbledore's. As for the headmaster, he seemed to sigh, but he didn't look very concerned. Not like he should have.

"Don't we, Dumbledore?" Sirius prodded, glaring at the headmaster and squeezing Harry's shoulder. "I told you how she dragged Harry from me earlier, she's right dodgy that one."

"Now Sirius, I thought you said you intended to apologize to Miss Watson," Dumbledore smirked. "As for what you witnessed, Harry, I promise I believe you. However, what we see, and what truly is, often find themselves at odds. Jean Watson has my complete trust. Whatever has occurred between her and the Weasley twins tonight, I have no doubt it was for good reason. Now, Sirius has requested permission for you to spend the rest of the weekend with him, and I have granted his request. Why don't you go with him now and I'll settle this matter with Professor Watson. I assure you, she won't be upset with you, and come Monday we can leave all this in the past."

Harry knew, if it was just him, that he'd have no choice but to obey Dumbledore. He wouldn't actually trust Professor Watson, just as he didn't actually trust Snape, but he would be forced to pretend otherwise. Forced to go to class and shut up, waiting for the day when she lost it and turned them all into brainless zombies. And maybe, with time, he might even believe that Dumbledore was right. And maybe he even was, but Harry wasn't important enough, wasn't strong enough, _wasn't_ _old enough,_ to ever find out for sure.

But Harry wasn't alone anymore. Sirius squeezed his shoulder so tight it almost hurt, and seemed to growl like a proper hound, "You've got to be kidding me! You're not even going to investigate? If I take Harry home now I'm not bloody-well bringing him back so long as that woman is still here!"

Harry's heart skipped too beats, one in excitement, one in fear. Not come back to Hogwarts? It was insane! All his friends were here, his life was here. How else would he learn magic?

But still, the idea of living with his godfather all the time, it was appealing. It seemed unfair that he should only get family now that he was too old to really enjoy it. What was a month at Christmas, two months in the summer? Not nearly enough time to have a family. Maybe it would be nice to go off with Sirius and never come back. Never have to be the Boy-Who-Lived again.

But still, maybe Sirius was family, but Hogwarts was home, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of leaving it forever. Not for longer than a moment, at least, "But Sirius, what about Ron and Hermione?"

"Trust me, Harry. I'll be telling their parents just what sort of school they're at. Actually, the Daily Prophet has been owling about setting up an interview all day. Maybe I should tell _them_ about Hogwarts' new Defense Professor."

Dumbledore flushed, and, for the first time, Harry thought he looked angry. And that made Harry angry too, furious, actually. Why would Dumbledore get upset with Sirius for being reasonable? He was the one being completely unreasonable. Professor Watson attacked Fred and George. What could be deceptive about that?

"Very well," Dumbledore finally answered, his teeth clenched tight. "We will all make our way to Professor Watson's office and sort this out. But I assure you, she has done nothing but what is best."

* * *

Harry knew he was right and Dumbledore was wrong, but still, it was nice to have Sirius's supportive grip as they returned to the defense classroom. Ron and Hermione had turned Professor Watson over, so her face was no longer smushed into the floor. As for Fred and George, they'd settled into two chairs in the corner, still looking confused, but talking quietly to each other as they stared at some sort of parchment.

"_Finite_," Dumbledore immediately cast, not even drawing his wand, just waving his hand over Professor Watson. Immediately she was revived and stood, brushing the dust from her robes. But however hard she tried, she didn't manage to look perfectly at-ease with the situation. In fact, she looked over at Sirius with a glint of terror. Guilt rose within Harry. For the first time, he considered what would happen if he was wrong. Dumbledore, after all, was a very wise man. Maybe he knew something Harry didn't, something that could explain this all away. And what then? Then Harry would have attacked an innocent women. He'd be the evil one then.

"Wait a minute," Sirius whispered, probably unaware he'd spoken at all. "I know that."

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Sirius had strolled across the room and plucked the parchment from Fred and George's hands. His fingers gripped it tight, and then he smelled it, closing his eyes and embracing it like an old friend. Harry found it very odd to watch, but very touching as well. Especially when Sirius turned back to look at him, a glinting tear in his eye.

"Where did you get this map?" He asked Fred and George quickly. "Where did you find?"

"Stole it from Filch—how do you know it's map?" George answered, blinking.

"Wait, aren't you a serial killer?" Fred added.

Sirius didn't answer Fred, but he did answer George. "I know it because I made it. Me, Remus, James… and Peter."

Harry's throat tightened. His dad. His dad, Sirius, Remus and Peter Pettigrew, the man who'd betrayed the rest of them. They'd made this map, whatever it was. And now Fred and George had it, but why did it matter? Fred and George had been talking about it to Professor Watson when she cursed them, talking about the map and Hermione of all people. Why did it matter at all?

"Can it be wrong?" George piped up. "Seems right faulty at the moment. Look who's in the room."

"No, the map never lies," Sirius absently answered, but then, he must have noticed what they were talking about. His gaze snapped up towards Professor Watson and he raised his wand, stalking towards her. "Who are you?"

Professor Watson sucked in a breathe, but chuckled. It didn't sound amused though, more like someone trying very hard not to be frightened. "You look a bit like your cousin when angry, Mr. Black. It's not a good look."

"Now, Sirius," Dumbledore interjected, grabbing the man's wand arm and pulling it down. "I think it is time we let Professor Watson explain herself. My dear, I'm afraid we have no choice but to tell them the truth."

"The truth? Are you certain?" Professor Watson gasped. Harry thought that was quite odd. Was the truth really that foreign a concept to her? Why would she seem startled by the mere suggestion of not lying?

"I see no other way for us to get out of this situation," Dumbledore admitted. "And besides, as the muggles say, 'the truth will set you free'."

Professor Watson bit her lip, but nodded. Still, she didn't speak. Instead, her gaze passed over all of them. She seemed surprised by Snape's presence, but didn't question her silent colleague. She barely looked at the twins or Sirius, but she stared at Ron, red faced and furious Ron, for a long time, Harry for even longer, before her gaze finally settled on Hermione of all people.

"You're not going to believe me, not at first, but I swear it's the truth… You know it has to be. Anyone who knows me knows I could never come up with such a creative lie…" She chuckled awkwardly, but upon realizing no one else was laughing, just continued. "My name isn't actually Jean Watson. That's an alias I took because… well because my name is actually Hermione Granger."

What? Harry didn't even know what to think about that? She'd changed her name because she didn't want to have the same name as a student? That seemed odd. So no, that couldn't be what she was saying. And everyone else in the room seemed to realize it before Harry did.

"You're me," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. "I thought you looked familiar. You look just like Mémère in her wedding photograph!"

"I wore her dress for my own wedding," Professor Watson—Hermione?—mused, turning to look at Ron. Now Harry realized she really was crying, crying quite openly. And he didn't know what to think. Surely this wasn't true? Except even he could see the resemblance between Professor Watson and Hermione. And Jean, Jean was Hermione's middle name.

But still, it couldn't be.

"My wedding… that was a few years ago now. I'm from May, 2005. Thirteen years in the future. I don't know how I came back. I just went to bed one night and woke up in my same bed with two muggles screaming at me. I'd just appeared right between them in what will be me house. And I've spent a month trying to get back, to my husband, to my Harry, but everything I've seen… it's not possible. You can travel back in time but you can't travel forward. So now I'm stuck, stuck in 1992, and all I could think was that I'd been given a chance. A chance to fix things. Sirius, you weren't supposed to get out of Azkaban for another year, and even then you weren't free. But I've changed that and now Harry, Harry, you can have a family. Everything you ever wanted. And Voldemort, I can kill him. I can kill him without Harry ever having to face him. Without anyone having to die. Half of you are supposed to die. Sirius, Fred, Snape, Dumbledore—you're all supposed to die! Even you, Harry. You die and come back but it's not… you don't really come back. How can anyone come back from that? The boy you are now, this week, it's been horrible. You're so happy, but even then you're not, because you know, don't you. You know Hogwarts isn't safe, that it won't ever be safe. That Voldemort and you will have to fight someday because of a stupid prophecy. You know it in your heart and I… I hate it. I can't stand it. So I need… I need to change it. I'm going to change it. or I was. But now… now everything is messed up. I've ruined the timeline beyond imagination. And I'm not sure… I'm not sure I'll ever recover. If it's so easy for people to realize the truth, if I'm dumb enough to forget about the stupid Marauder's Map, how am I possibly supposed to defeat Voldemort? I'm not like you Harry. I'm not meant to do this. And I can't… I can't protect you from it either."

Harry's head hurt, but not because of some burning scar. No, he was just confused. Confused and terrified. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. Time travel wasn't possible. Of course, he hadn't known it was possible to wipe someone's memory. Or do magic at all, for that matter. But certainly time travel was a step beyond even that. This was a lie. It had to be. Except…

"She's bonkers!" Sirius barked. "Bat-shit crazy. They don't even look alike. You can't get rid of teeth like that… no offense."

"Actually, it's just a shrinking charm. Madame Pomfrey did it my fourth year so I didn't have to get braces."

"What the hell are _braces_?"

"I do believe, Sirius, that that is besides the point. I assure you, Professor Watson—Hermione—is telling the truth. Her knowledge of the future, and Voldemort's plans, are unparallelled… plus, she had revealed to me private knowledge, things I am grateful none in our time know."

He sounded embarrassed, and it made Harry wonder if Professor Dumbledore had secrets. But of course he did. They all did. And if that was the case… "Prove it then. What's something only Hermione would know about me?"

"Oh," she seemed to pause and Harry's heart pounded. Truthfully, he hoped she failed. He didn't want her to be telling the truth, because if she was, well then Harry didn't know what to think. Some of the things she'd said, they terrified him. He didn't want Sirius to die! He didn't want any of them to die! And he certainly didn't like the idea of being destined to fight Voldemort, _again_.

But Harry had known since he was very little that you didn't ever get what you want. "This summer a house elf named Dobby made it so you didn't get any of your mail, and then he dropped a cake on your Uncle's business partner."

"Anyone could know that," Sirius interjected, even though, quite frankly, Harry knew that wasn't true. "Do better."

Professor Watson clenched her jaw, and spit, "I don't know how to do better, that's the problem! What do you want me to say? You're a dog animagus! Dumbledore has the Elder Wand! I actually skimmed most of Hogwarts a History the first time around. Snape was in love with Lily! Ron only uses boxers because the twins make fun of him. He really prefers briefs! Is that enough for you?"

It was certainly enough for Harry. Ron's face was as red as his hair even as he said, "That's not true."

"Yes it is," Fred and George chimed, though even they seemed embarrassed.

Then, silence fell upon all of them. It was only broken by the sound of a slamming door. Harry turned, startled, and realized that Snape had disappeared. Had he left? Was it because of what Hermione said about his mother? Had Snape actually been in love with her? Harry found the prospect a little disgusting, but confusing most of all.

All of this was just so confusing.

"But you're… you're going to stop Voldemort? You're going to fix things, that's what you said. And we can help?" Hermione asked her older self. (Which Harry still found so strange.)

Professor Watson smiled sadly at Hermione, heartbreak in her eyes. "I was trying. I was trying so hard. But I just… I don't know how to hold this all together. The more people who know the more things are going to change. I'm not sure… I'm not sure I'll be able to do anything now. I've probably ruined things perpetually."

"I wouldn't be so certain, my dear," Dumbledore finally interjected. There was a glint in his eye, one Harry didn't quite get. "As you say, the threat of so many people knowing so soon, it is quite great. So forgive me, will you not?"

Harry didn't know what the Headmaster meant, but Sirius must have. He lunged at Dumbledore, "Don't you dare!"

It was too late. The old wizard raised his wand high, "Obliviate maxima."


	8. Chapter 8

I didn't forget about you, I promise! I've decided I'm just going to update on Mondays so you'll continue to receive updates even as I get busy over the holidays. This will be good because I will inevitably get distracted by Christmas fanfic and forget to write this. Unfortunately, that means the Christmas chapter of this fic will be coming out after the holiday, which is kind of frustrating. I might see if I can write one that is spoiler-free and post it as a one-shot; we'll have to see. But whatever happens, thank you all for reading. I haven't had time to reply to every review, which is quite disappointing, but if I've missed you this week know I sincerely appreciate it and will try to reply soon. I think that's all, so without any further delay ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 8

The rest of September flew by.

Hermione didn't remember the Marauder Incident, Dumbledore's memory charm had affected her too. She was quite bitter about that, especially when Dumbledore insisted she couldn't watch his memory of the encounter. But there was nothing at all she could do about it. He was wrong that she didn't need to know, of course she needed to know, but still, he was Albus Dumbledore. There was no winning an argument with him. Every time she brought it up, he just reminded her of the lesson they'd learned from it—she needed to be more careful.

So she resisted the temptation to press on with her work, and honestly, it proved to be quite easy. Hermione had never given her professors enough credit. Sure, students took a half-dozen courses, but Hermione was now teaching twelve sections twice a week. She'd assigned an essay to every one of her students the first week and realized the next Monday that that meant hundreds of essays to grade. Add on the monumental task of helping her upper-years pass OWLS and NEWTS… Well Hermione found she didn't have the time to remember little nuisances like Voldemort.

Especially when she had even littler nuisances to deal with, one bushy-haired second-year in particular.

"Professor?"

Professor Watson looked up unsurprised as her younger-self approached. Ron and Harry were standing in the doorway-Harry looking anxious, Ron looking bored. Hermione, however, little-Hermione that is, was clearly on a mission, and big-Hermione knew exactly what it would be. Still, the professor kept her face neutral. As Dumbledore said, she had to be more careful. This couldn't be two Hermione Grangers speaking, just one Hermione and one Professor Jean Watson.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor Watson, I was hoping we could discuss my essay grade," Hermione bit her lip, holding back something. Anger or tears, it was a bit difficult to tell. "I don't feel it is correct."

Professor Watson had expected this conversation. In fact, she'd planned it when she graded the essay as she did. So she nodded and waved towards her office, "Is now, alright? I know you're done with classes."

Hermione nodded firmly and then turned to Ron and Harry, "Go on without me."

"But Hermione, what about… You know?" Ron, ever subtle, shouted across the classroom. Professor Watson didn't know what he was talking about, and she suspected she didn't want to, but she knew the look. Still, it was easier to brush aside than it would have been a month before. Most of the time she didn't even equate this boy and her husband. Most of the time.

"Oh don't be ridiculous Ronald," Hermione hmphed, rolling her eyes. "I'll be fine. Besides, Harry, don't you have practice. Wood won't be pleased if you're late."

Ah yes. Professor Watson wished quite frequently that Oliver Wood put as much work into his essays as he did his Quidditch strategies. But at least the reminder got Harry to drag Ron away.

Professor Watson led Hermione into her office, then made some tea. That seemed to surprise the child, she probably wasn't planning on staying that long, but Jean Watson knew this was the kind of conversation you needed tea for. And frankly, she didn't intend for it to be particularly short. She might need to be careful, after all, but the last month had let things quiet down enough that she felt confident in pressing forward in such an indirect manner.

"How do you like your tea?"

"Cream and sugar, please."

Professor Watson took her tea black these days, something she'd learned from long hours at the Ministry, but she made up the two drinks easily. Once she'd handed the girl her tea, she settled down to business. "What was it about your essay that you wanted to discuss? I thought you had a rather firm grip on the material myself."

"Well, Professor, that's the thing," Hermione began, but she paused, letting her eyes dance across the office. She was delaying of course. The anxiety in her eyes was frightful. Still, Professor Watson waited for her to get it out. Hermione was a Gryffindor, after all. She could be plenty brave.

"Well, the thing is, Professor, that I thought I wrote a rather good essay. And it was twice the length it was supposed to be, with references to a number of secondary sources I found in the library. So… so I just don't understand why I got an A!"

Ah to be young and high achieving. It was a blessing, of course, Professor Watson would never discount the splendors that came from unmatched intelligence and unmatched ambition. But there was a cost too, a cost that _Jean Watson_ had learned rather later than she probably should have. So it seemed only right to pass things along. Not to discourage Hermione from doing her best work, never that, but to make her understand a few things.

"Well, the thing is, Miss Granger, I asked for a two to three foot analysis of the readings. You gave me a six foot state-of-the-field paper. A rather good one, but not what I'd asked for. Normally, I would only take off slightly when directions are not followed, but I've been noting the problem on your assignments for weeks and seen no change. I had hoped this would get the message through."

"But that's not fair!" Hermione was blisteringly indignant, waving her hands about dramatically. Luckily these were no-spill tea cups or there would have had quite a mess.

"Hermione," Professor Watson sympathized, of course she did, but this mattered. It really mattered. "Hermione, say someone gave me just one foot of parchment, would it be fair if I marked them down?"

The girl blinked, but nodded, "Of course! They didn't do the assignment. It's sloppy and lazy."

"Hermione, you didn't do the assignment either, and I could argue it's sloppy and lazy on your part as well."

That was a smack in the face, and Professor Watson could feel it herself. But as much as this hurt her, as much as it hurt Hermione, it mattered.

"The assignment was two to three feet. Yes, I would agree that going slightly over is better than going slightly under, but six feet is, quite frankly, absurd. It proves that you don't know how to find the most important material, that you're unable to use a simple argument to express yourself. Complexity is vital, truly, but simplicity ever more so. _Because the majority of the world won't care_. It doesn't matter how intelligent what you have to say is if no one is listening. It's essential that you understand the complexities well enough to express something simply. That's what I'm trying to teach you."

For a moment, Hermione just sat there, looking shell-shocked. Then, she took a long sip of her tea and, voice weak, admitted, "I always thought longer was better. It proves you're smarter, that you're working harder."

"Trust me, Hermione, I thought the same thing at your age," Professor Watson chuckled, wishing someone else knew just how amusing a joke that was. "And sometimes it is, don't get me wrong. I truly appreciate your work ethic, but I want you to try and focus your essays, at least for a little while. And I guarantee your professors will appreciate it… I certainly won't pretend this is entirely for your sake. Remember we have to grade whatever you turn in, and while I do enjoy reading your essays, imagine if everyone turned in twice what they were supposed to. It would suddenly be as if I had twice as many students, and, honestly, I'm not certain I don't already have too many."

Hermione flushed, looking properly embarrassed. "I never thought about it like that, Professor. Now I feel quite bad."

"Don't. Just keep it in mind. Focus your essays on the most important information for a short while, then I'll see about giving you a little more freedom, alright? And I'm always here if you want to talk through your thoughts, find out what's the best way to whittle down your argument."

The girl nodded. It was clear that she was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around this new way of thinking about work, but Professor Watson was confident she'd get there. Was it pride if she was proud of herself? Either way, she believed in this bushy-haired child. She believed in her more than she believed in herself, which, strange as it was, made sense too.

"But, Professor… is there any way that we could maybe change my grade? Even to an E?"

Professor Watson probably would have laughed, except the desperation in Hermione's voice hit so close to home it wasn't funny at all. It was easy at twenty-five to think of yourself as above such petty concerns as needing a grade to prove your intelligence. But the truth was, you reached a certain age when you weren't graded any longer, and then, then you just never knew if you'd done a good job at all. Jean Watson longed for someone to give her an O for her first month of teaching. Sure, she'd freed an innocent man from prison and prevented the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, but was that really enough? Was it ever enough?

"No, Hermione, that wouldn't be fair. But I promise, one A isn't going to lower your overall grade."

"But…"

"No, buts, Miss Granger. I wouldn't change the grade on the essay that was too short just because they promised to use larger handwriting the next time." It wasn't actually funny, but the joke elicited enough of a smile from Hermione that she didn't burst into tears, which was the real goal. Still, Professor Watson felt rather bad, so she caved. Slightly. But not because Hermione was her younger self, not at all. Jean Watson would never be unfair just because she, honestly, hated the idea of getting an A. No, this was definitely fair… or at least it would be so long as she kept such a policy going forward.

"However, if you wanted to rewrite the assignment, I would mark it for you for extra credit. Not enough to bring it up to an O, but it would give you some practice with these shorter essays before the next graded assignment."

The girl's eyes lit up like a _lumos maxima_. "Oh yes please, Professor. I'll have it to you right away!"

"You can have it to me next class and it will make no difference. Try and enjoy your weekend, alright? Do you and your friends have anything planned? I know it's a Hogsmeade weekend for the upper-years."

"Oh yes. All the first and second years are going to play a giant game of hide-and-seek. It should be interesting because the Hufflepuffs are always particularly good finders."

Professor Watson smiled. She remembered, quite vaguely, playing games like that herself. But wow, it just amazed her to realize how truly young they all still were. Hermione was old for her year—thirteen—but still a kid. They were all really just still kids. It made Jean wonder if maybe she was being too hard on Hermione, but no, she was certain she was only being fair. But still, it was good to be reminded of what it truly was to be that age. To just be a child. All-school hide-and-seek. Even the Slytherins got in on it, with some dirty tricks thrown in. But it was good fun, clean fun, and it made Professor Watson smile.

"Well, that sounds very fun. Unfortunately I have to chaperone so I won't be around to see it."

"Well, I hear Hogsmeade is quite exciting too. Fred and George were telling us about the Shrieking Shack. Apparently it's the most haunted building in Britain."

Professor Watson snorted, which must have insulted the girl a bit, because quickly asked, "What is it?"

"It's nothing," Professor Watson insisted, but the humor in her eyes was clear, so she had to come clean. "No, I just remember saying the same thing at your age, but it has occurred to me how absurd that reputation is. Hogwarts is the most haunted building in Britain. We have hundreds of ghosts! Why would we be frightened of the shack?"

Hermione blinked a few times, then offered a sly smile, "That's actually quite true, isn't it? Fred and George were probably just pulling our legs. Still, Hogsmeade, it sounds quite wonderful. An entirely wizarding village. Are you excited?"

To have to spend her Saturday making sure students weren't getting up to any trouble in a village designed to tempt students? No, she wasn't excited at all. But there was no use bothering Hermione with the mundane realities of adulthood. "Yes, it should be quite exciting."

* * *

Hermione was busy, but she was also bored out of her mind. If she had to cough loud enough to draw the attention of any more snogging students, she might just start casting Unforgivables. Honestly, it was a wonder Riddle had become evil _before_ applying to be a teacher.

She rounded the corner and spotted red hair. No doubt it was Fred and George up to some mischief, so Hermione stormed forward, only to find a very terrified looking Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater breaking apart. She sighed, giving the Prefects a look that had them both blustering apologies and running off. Yes, it was certainly going to be a long day.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Hermione recognized the voice, but it still took her a moment to place it. Of all the people she'd expected to find in Hogsmeade, Sirius Black was not one of them.

"No doubt you don't," she quipped, realizing a moment later how she rude that was. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Not really, I don't remember much of that day, but I remember being a right git to you… And a certain passionate kiss, but Remus swears that was just a dream."

"He's lying to make you feel better. You made quite a fool out of yourself, Mr. Black."

"Lord Black, actually. But you, Professor Watson, can call me Sirius if I may call you Jean."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she smirked, "What brings you to Hogsmeade, Lord Black?"

"You wound me, Professor Watson. Why don't you _Crucio _me and be done with it?"

Hermione thought she might rather put him under the _Imperiatus_. It would be exceptionally amusing to have Sirius Black under her command. Of course, the man didn't need her telling him to do ridiculous things—he did them all of his own accord—but it would be amusing to make him do something odd. Or she could send him apologizing to Snape for years of torment. Now that, that would be amusing.

Hermione blinked, shutting down that line of thinking. It was entirely too teasing and she didn't know why she'd tease Sirius. He didn't know her at all, and Hermione didn't actually know him either. They'd lived under the same roof all of summer 95', but there had been so much to do and so many people at the Headquarters. She'd never spoken to Sirius alone, now that she thought about it. Unless she wanted to count her dressing-down from a few weeks before. Which was quite strange to realize since they were definitely alone now.

Maybe it just felt good to laugh. The Sirius she'd known had been gloomy about being locked up and desperate to do something reckless. This Sirius was different, just cheerful. He reminded her of Fred or George, or even Ron, now that she thought about it. Ever since he'd taken over the joke shop he'd been extra good for a laugh too.

But she certainly didn't want to consider the similarities between Sirius Black and her husband, so Hermione pushed it all away. "Unfortunately, a trip to Azkaban would likely get in the way of my duties. I should be going."

Sirius stepped in her path immediately. Hermione blinked in surprise. She'd assumed he was just taking advantage of this chance meeting, but perhaps not. Beneath all the cheerful jokes, she could see the broken man who'd spent eleven years in prison.

"I'm serious—pun intended—about that drink. If you want to chaperone, what better place than The Three Broomsticks? Half the student body is inside. Shouldn't you make sure the seventh years haven't poured their Firewhiskey into a third year's butterbeer?"

"Quite frankly, I don't see why there are any seventh years willing to be seen in the presence of a third year," she reminded him, though from the specificity of his comments, this was definitely something he had done. Stupid Marauders. That could have been dangerous.

"I'm just saying, there are all kinds of hanky panky going on in here, but none of the chaperones ever come inside. Besides, I wouldn't want a lady like yourself to freeze."

He was correct that it was cold, far too cold for the first weekend of October, but Hermione Granger was a witch. And very, very stubborn. With a flick of her wand, she summoned her little blue ball of fire. "I think I'll manage."

"Please, Jean," Sirius said her name in such a way that it would have been quite compelling—if it was actually her name. But Hermione still struggled to think of herself as Jean Watson, so his imploring just made her uncomfortable.

"Lord Black, I'm working. Imagine you saw one of your professors getting a drink with a handsome man? What would you have said?"

Sirius grinned widely, and Hermione swore she could see his tail wagging. "That they were shagging of course, especially if he was_ handsome_ as you say."

She cringed. She had used the word handsome, hadn't she? Not that she'd meant anything by it. In her heart, she was still a married women, or a grieving widow at best. Never mind the fact that while Sirius was technically only seven years older than her, Hermione still thought of him as old enough to be her father. She wasn't thinking about Sirius like he was thinking about her, truly.

Still, she had to admit he was _objectively_ handsome. He looked far better in this timeline than he ever had in hers, that was for sure. Older than thirty-three, Azkaban couldn't be washed away completely, but not nearly so old as he'd looked as a fugitive. He'd cut his hair, and even Hermione was jealous of his dark curls. Luscious, she thought was the best word. Though long for a muggle man, they worked quite well on Sirius, especially as he took back the long discarded title of Lord Black. Hermione was surprised he'd embraced it, but it suited him. He wore a fine velvet suit under crimson robes. They had the Black family crest embroidered into them, Hermione noticed, the slightest hint of silver, but still, the man screamed Gryffindor. It was probably a good thing that Narcissa Malfoy was the only Black neither dead nor in Azkaban. Sirius might have wracked up a few murder charges when all his relatives dropped dead in horror of seeing the Black crest even vaguely associated with the House of 'The Light'.

But it was a good look, a very good look. It helped to return the color to Sirius's skin, ease the waxiness of his skin. In just a month, Hermione would have never guessed the horrors he'd suffered. In a few years, it seemed they'd be forgotten completely.

And it made Hermione smile, really. He'd never recovered the first time around, but now that he was free, Sirius seemed to have regained something he never had before—his pride. And it did him well, mostly. Even if it also made him a bit of a pompous arse.

"I have to go, Lord Black. But I'll tell Harry I saw you."

"Please, wait," he begged, grabbing her by the arm. Hermione froze, her heart fluttering, but not for the reason he desired. Sirius didn't know it, but he'd grabbed her right where Bellatrix had carved 'Mudblood' into her skin. Hermione had always been grateful that Ron couldn't even bear to look at it, never mind try to touch it. Even years later it still hurt when touched, a scar on her mind far more than her body.

"Sorry," he said, feeling her stiffen. "But I just… I went to Hogwarts that night to apologize, but Dumbledore wouldn't let me see you."

Hermione knew that wasn't true, but let it be. Whatever memories his mind had filled in that gap, she wasn't about to contradict them.

"I wanted you to know—you were right. I was acting all sideways with Harry and I'm going to do better. I already am. I've already organized the House finances, and I'm going to move on to politics next, see if I can't knock those Death Eaters down a peg or two in the Wizengamot. Because Harry deserves better than me. He deserves Lily and James. But since they're gone, I'm all he's got, so I have to try and be what they would have been. I won't ever succeed, but I can try. For Harry."

For Harry—didn't that just sum up Hermione's life just about now. Or well, it had until the Marauder incident. Since then she'd put her friend too far to the side, for the sake of subtlety. But Sirius was right, Harry deserved a better life than any of them could give him, so maybe it was about time she figured out how to get back in the game, because the least she could do was guarantee it didn't get any worse.

Sirius chuckled and shook his head, flashing her a smug grin, "Well, that's that. I've said what I needed to so you can go back to ruining everyone's fun, Professor Watson… though, if you get sick of ruining everyone's fun, I know the students go back at sundown. Perhaps you'd be willing to get a drink with me then?"

Merlin's beard, he was persistent. Hermione doubted he even actually wanted to get a drink with her, he just didn't like to be told no. Luckily, though, Hermione could be equally as pigheaded. (In the good way.) "I think not, Lord Black. But I wish you and Harry well."

There really wasn't anything else to say, so she turned on her heels and went to leave. But Hermione had hardly gotten two steps when he added, "Just so you know, it really would just be a drink. I'm good for teasing and all, but Harry told me about your husband. I'm sorry, by the way. That sucks arse."

Hermione snorted a laugh, which really was an inappropriate way to respond to condolences for one's dead husband. But still, it was just so absurd. Sirius could dress up as the proper Pureblood Lord, yet clearly he'd never be one. 'Sucks arse'. How more muggle could you get?

"Eh, sorry, was that insensitive?"

"No, Lord Black, it was plenty sensitive. You just…you're just an odd man, is all. I wouldn't expect it."

"The good kind of odd, right? Like that Lovegood chap who thinks I'm Stubby Boardman and not odd like my barmy incestuous cousins, right?"

Once again, Hermione couldn't control her laughter. By God Sirius just didn't know how to shut up and be polite company. And it was so… refreshing. Hermione had been too busy to think about it, but she'd spent very little time with people her own age since coming to 1992. Her students were equally parts amusing and infuriating. Her colleagues were fine for a quick chat in the teacher's lounge or at dinner, but most of them were significantly older than her. Plus, when she talked magical theory, she always had to be careful about referencing journal articles that hadn't been published yet. The only person she could talk openly to was Dumbledore, and since the man had never been_ open_ with someone in his life, it was a rather one-sided conversation.

Merlin's beard, Hermione missed talking to adults.

_And honestly, Sirius would be quite a beneficial friend to have, if we're considering 'the plan'. He's Harry's legal guardian. The locket is in his house and he probably has access to the Lestrange vault. Who knows, he might even have books on how to cast fiendfyre safely and then you don't have to worry about the Chamber at all. Plus, it would be helpful to have some political and financial protection if this all goes horribly wrong. _

The thought settled her. Yes, Sirius would be a good friend to have indeed. It wasn't like she was going to go shag him, this wasn't a betrayal of Ron or her mission. And if it kept her sane to have some adult friends, that was definitely a bonus.

"The students go back to the castle just past six," she told Sirius, enjoying it quite a bit as a smile lit up his face. "How does quarter to seven sound, but at the Leaky Cauldron, not the Three Broomsticks. I'd quite enjoy a trip to London."

"I could get us reservations somewhere nice."

A nice fancy dinner sounded wonderful after a month of Hogwarts buffet, but he sounded far too much like an excited puppy, so she had to turn him down. "The Leaky Cauldron is just fine for a drink, I think. I'll see you then, Sirius."

"Oh yes you shall!" He exclaimed, and Hermione couldn't help but snort.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello all for your continued support. I promise I didn't forget about you, just very busy with exams. Here is the update for the week. One important note: I think I'm going to officially mark this story as Hermione/Sirius. I know some of you would rather I didn't, and I respect that, but it does seem the natural way for it to go. That said, I'm going to give you no hints about just how slow-burn this will be, or if they're endgame and not just 'a thing'. You'll have to read and find out. Ultimately, this story isn't a romance, even if there is romance in it. Still, I understand if that's not your cup of tea and appreciate you coming this far. If you decide to continue on, well I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 9

Hermione felt like she was going on a date. She wasn't. She knew she wasn't. Sirius knew she wasn't. Everyone knew she wasn't, but still, she_ felt _like she was. That was what happened when you stood in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes trying to decide whether to wear robes or muggle clothes. _It has nothing to do with wanting to impress, Sirius, _she reminded herself. _You just don't want to seem like an idiot. If you wear robes and he doesn't, it will look like you're trying to impress him. But if you don't wear robes, you'll come across as the ignorant muggleborn. _

She knew, deep down, what the problem was. Hermione felt guilty. She could tell herself over and over again that it wasn't a date, that she didn't like Sirius, that this was all a matter of strategic importance. But even if it was true, it felt like a lie. She'd framed her wedding ring so she'd never forget—not that you could forget your husband—but now Hermione wished she hadn't. Every time she caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, she felt like bursting into tears and calling the whole thing off.

It was stupid. She'd never been one for female friends. She'd found a few as she got older, but still, she'd always been more comfortable around Ron and Harry than Ginny and Luna. But of course she'd been friends with them since they were too young to be thinking about dating. Still, even if cows like Rita Skeeter wanted to insinuate that girls couldn't just be friends with guys, Hermione knew it wasn't true true. The fact that she'd ended up married to one of her close guy friends was completely irrelevant. She hadn't ended up married to Harry, so that proved guys and girls could be friends. Didn't it?

But this was different. No one knew that Jean Watson just generally preferred to be friends with guys. And she'd known Sirius for years, but he hadn't known her for years, so it was distinctly different from getting a pint with Harry. It felt like—if not a date—a precursor to a date. Which felt like _adultery_.

She cast another glance at the ring. Even if it was a date—which it wasn't—it wasn't really cheating. Jean Watson wasn't married. In 1992, Hermione Granger wasn't even married. And with Ron fourteen years her junior, there was no way they'd end up together. Add on the impossibilities of travelling forward in time, and Hermione was effectively a widow. She mourned like a widow.

Hermione didn't like thinking about how horribly she missed Ron. She'd shrunk her bed so it didn't feel so large, so _empty_. But it still felt cold. Ron radiated heat when he slept, and there were times when Hermione was drowsy enough she'd squirm between the sheets, searching for that warmth. But it wasn't there, it was never there, and inevitably she'd remember. That warmth, that touch, the way Ron would bite her ear—it was all gone, forever. She'd never sleep with Ron again, in any sense. And she physically ached knowing it.

But that physical loss wasn't nearly so bad as the loss of his smile. Every once in a while she'd hear a roar of laughter from the end of the Gryffindor table, and each time it was like a knife to her gut. Hermione had never wanted to know how Julius Caesar felt, but she certainly did. Every time she had Ron in class it was a million new stab wounds. He was there, right there, a person she knew and loved, but not quite right, and certainly not hers.

She missed Harry too, don't get her wrong. Ginny, Neville, Luna, the list went on. Hermione hadn't had a single friend until she'd come to Hogwarts, but she'd left it with more than anyone could ever ask for. She missed all of them, especially Harry, but it wasn't the same. For some reason she could look at twelve-year-old Harry smiling and smile herself. It felt good to know how happy he was, how unburdened by loss and responsibility. It wasn't like that with Ron. With Ron, it just hurt.

And now she was going on a date, even if it wasn't a date. Hermione was going, she'd made up her mind and she was going, but as she flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, she knew the guilt wasn't going to go away.

* * *

Sirius Black was going on a date. Little Jean Watson just didn't know it yet.

The last time Sirius had been on a date was seventh year, which was quite frightening to admit. Still, it was true. Sure, he'd shagged a few women since then, more than he would like to admit, quite frankly, but even if there was wine-ing and dining in those cases, they still weren't dates. They were transactions, which was a disgusting but accurate way of phrasing things. There had been no expectation of emotional connection, just good old physical pleasure.

Because that was what he'd needed then. He didn't want to get involved with anyone during the War because they might be in danger just for knowing him. As for those who were already in danger, it seemed like a bad idea to get too close to them. Sirius wasn't willing to invest in a relationship if he knew his girlfriend might go and get herself blown up. If that was selfish… well Sirius was a bit selfish. As for after the war, well what was a man supposed to do after eleven years in prison, live as a monk? He was rich, famous, and tragic, so of course he'd found a few gals to spend a night with the past month. Surely no one would begrudge him that? Besides, he'd needed the help feeling like a man again after so many years spent primarily as Padfoot. There was nothing that made him feel more like a man than a good shag.

And yeah, he definitely hoped Jean Watson never, ever, ever knew he'd even_ thought_ that, because she'd probably bust his balls right then and there.

Damn—there was nothing so attractive as a woman unafraid to curse you. Maybe that said something rather frightening about Sirius himself, but it was true. And he thought it was quite flattering too. How many men could honestly say they were attracted to, and not intimidated by, strong women? Not-bloody-many, whatever they said. But Sirius definitely was. Sure, he hadn't enjoyed having bats bursting out of his nostrils. Still, it was rather more effective than blowing your nose, and had cleared out all the Azkaban dust quite nicely.

Plus, the way she'd dressed him down like an old-fashioned English nanny, beautiful, stunning, Sirius could have married her then-and-there. He definitely thought there was something disordered about how attractive he found a good scolding. It caused certain messes, like him kissing her for one, but a man liked what he liked.

And Sirius Black liked Jean Watson.

It wasn't just her bold temper either, though that certainly was part of it. She was drop-dead gorgeous too. Bright eyes, voluminous hair, and an ass that could kill. She pulled off the modest maiden fair too well in her Professor's Robes, but Sirius could tell. The woman was gorgeous, and bright, and bold and honestly, he was in love. He was head-over-heels in love.

Now he just needed to convince her she was as taken with him as he was with her. And while the arrogant part of Sirius swore she would be, he knew that eleven years in Azkaban had stifled much of his charm. He looked far too old, jumped at too many things. He'd lost his swagger. Now he had to get it back, and if he was trying too hard along the way, well, who could blame him. It was what he had to do to feel like himself again. To feel like anything at all. He had a plan, and Jean Watson was an important part of that plan.

Becoming Lord Black had helped. It was impossible to feel unimportant with a seal ring upon his finger. He still hated Grimmauld Place, but soon he'd have cleared out enough of dangerous materials and could put it on the market. He'd already bought a nice little house not far from Hogsmeade and moved the few family possessions he cared about there. Fifteen years ago, Sirius couldn't have imagined living in Scotland, but now he liked it. London was too noisy, too lively. All the things he'd once adored about it now gave him anxiety. He'd considered moving back to his flat in Godric's Hallow, but it had, of course, been rented out in the past eleven years. Besides, the little village brought back too many memories. Sirius hadn't gone to the Potter Cottage since he'd been freed, but the image of its deselect form lingered in his mind._ James lay at the foot of the stairs, his glasses crushed. Lily at the foot of Harry's crib, the stain of her tears still obvious. Harry's screams…_

Sirius shook the memories away; they did him no good. No doubt the little plot had been leveled and some perfectly boring house built in its place. What would be the use of going and staring at a random house anyway? Or going to the cemetery? He'd seen the bodies. He didn't need to see the graves.

Yes, living in Godric's Hallow was out of the question, and besides, Scotland was close to Harry. Sirius had loved the idea of boarding school as a child, but as a godfather, it stunk. He just wanted the chance to get to know Harry—Christmas couldn't come fast enough—but if he couldn't be with Harry, he wanted to be close. Something told him that Jean was probably correct about Harry needing him close. And he'd be there, like he hadn't been all these years. So Scotland it was. Especially because Harry would enjoy the space to fly.

He grinned. The opening match for Gryffindor was only a week away and Sirius had never been more excited for anything in his life. He already knew that Harry was the youngest seeker in a century, something James would have been thrilled at. And Sirius was thrilled too. How he adored quidditch! _I wonder if Jean's a fan. _

Now Sirius Orion Black wasn't an idiot. A fool, yes, but you didn't become an animagus at fifteen by being a dunderhead. He knew that he was walking a difficult line with the Hogwarts Professor. He wasn't very good at hiding his emotions, and if she realized too quickly how he felt about her, she'd run off and never speak to him again. It was hard for Sirius to comprehend a woman who wasn't interested in him, but he figured the recently-dead husband might be the problem. And he was fine with that. What was a relationship without a little emotional baggage? But she was young, and beautiful, and Sirius knew the best way to heal heartbreak was to fill the hole. That's what he planned to do, at least, fill the hole in his heart with Harry, Remus, and maybe, if he was lucky, the least matron-like professor Hogwarts had ever seen.

He'd gotten them a table—Sirius would be dammed if he let a dame like that sit at the bar—and was slowly nursing a firewhiskey when she flooed in. She was wearing a normal muggle dress, nothing fancy, but it showed off her rather sleek legs. Sirius bit his lip and then took another drink. He needed to be careful. If he drank too much no doubt he'd end up trying to kiss her again, but she made him nervous too. Everyone knew the best way to calm your nerves was a bit of alcohol, or weed, but he didn't know where to get that anymore.

"I was worried you wouldn't come," he admitted as she slid in across from him. "And imagine how foolish I'd look drinking alone. Now they'll know you're the fool for having a drink with me."

She chuckled lightly, and Sirius was disproportionally proud. But still. Jean had a wonderful laugh, and it got even better when he knew that he was the reason she was laughing.

"Well, all the more reason we couldn't do this in Hogsmeade. I can't have my students knowing what an idiot I am, can I?"

Now it was Sirius's turn to laugh, and this too he did disproportionately. It wasn't even that it was funny. He just felt good. He felt _wonderful_. The last month, trying to pull together a life out of nothing, it had probably been harder than a year in Azkaban. But it felt so good to laugh.

Jean ordered a glass of wine and a couple appetizers for them to share, but soon enough an awkward silence fell upon them. For perhaps the first time in his life, Sirius didn't know what to say. He wasn't particularly well caught-up on current events. Talking about his past her too much since all the best memories involved James and the rat. So what was there to talk about?

"So, what's Harry like as a student?" _Wow._ Sirius realized._ I've become a boring middle-aged parent without the fun of knocking someone up._

Jean seemed to appreciate the topic of conversation, though. Her eyes lit up, her shoulders softened. Sirius was just relieved she didn't look ready to flee, "He's a natural at Defense, which is quite pleasant. He could put a bit more effort into his essays, but I've already seen a marked improvement from the beginning of the term. It really feels like he's putting in the effort to learn which he definitely hasn't done in the past."

"Isn't this your first year? How do you know what he's normally like?"

She blinked twice—that was the only way that Sirius knew something was up. But once he did, he could hear the strange tilt to her voice, "Oh, well, I've heard from others, I mean. Apparently Harry only puts effort into the classes he likes, which I'll take as a compliment."

"You should," Sirius added, because he didn't have anything better to say. Most of his attention was too devoted to figuring out what was wrong with her to think of something better to say. Harry had said she could be odd at times; now Sirius knew what his godson meant. It felt almost like they were having two entirely different conversations.

"What about you? How is Harry settling in with you as his guardian? Dumbledore told me the paperwork went right through."

Sirius briefly wondered why Dumbledore was keeping track of who Harry had for a legal guardian, but this was Dumbledore after all, so he didn't put too much thought into it. "Oh it's been wonderful, really. I wish I could spend proper time with him, but he calls me most nights. We have these two-way mirrors James and I made back at school. See."

He whipped the mirror out of his pocket. Perhaps it was a bit clingy to keep on him all the time, but Harry, he'd noticed, was a bit clingy. His godson was thrilled with the idea of always having someone he could call if he needed to, and Sirius was happy to oblige by keeping it on him. Especially because he, perhaps, was a bit clingy too.

"All I have to do is say his name and it will open up. 'Harry Potter'."

"What are you doing?" She hissed, grabbing her napkin and pulling it in front of her face. Sirius raised an eyebrow; this witch was barmy. "Harry's my student! He can't know I'm out with you!"

Sirius blushed slightly, understanding where she was coming from. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't too keen to explain to Harry how he was dating his teacher—once they were actually dating, of course.

"Well, doesn't look like he has his mirror on him anyway," Sirius admitted, putting it away. "But it has been helpful for getting to know him. I hate having missed so much of his life. And to think he was stuck with Petunia… that's his aunt. She's a right foul woman, muggle, of course, but I don't care about that. What I hate is that the only thing blander than her choice of décor is her personality. The only spark of life in her is hatred. Lily cried for ages when she refused to come to her and James's wedding. I can't imagine how horrible it must have been to have her as a mum like Harry did."

"Did he?" she asked, grabbing a roll and pulling it slowly apart.

"What you mean?"

"Well, did Harry have her as a mum? I mean, I wouldn't pretend to really know their relationship, but it's a bit odd, isn't it? Dumbledore said she was thrilled to sign over custody. That doesn't sound like a very loving mum to me."

"No," Sirius had to admit, she was right. He hadn't thought much about Petunia's reaction because it had been convenient. Still, he could see how it had been odd. Then again… "But you mustn't have ever met my mum! I think I'd rather Petunia than her and that's saying something. Didn't even bother to sign custody of me over to the Potters, though I was close to being of age at that point… I ran away a sixteen, you see. Moved in with James and his parents. Great people. Merlin's beard, I miss them."

Slowly, Jean set aside her roll. Instead she reached out and grabbed Sirius's hand, giving it a brief squeeze. The contact only lasted a minute, but it was enough to send his heart soaring. Blimey, attractive, fierce, and compassionate too. Sirius really wished he could just propose on the spot.

"I'm sorry. I cannot imagine how hard that must be, losing all your friends like that."

She said that, but something in her eyes told Sirius it wasn't true. There was a grief there, an insurmountable grief, and an understanding as well. What a mystery Jean Watson was! And one Sirius was quite looking forward to taking the time to crack.

"Yeah, well, You-Know-Who ruins everything, but at least he's gone, right?" Sirius said chuckling.

Jean didn't laugh. Instead, she stilled. For all her body was quiet, though, Sirius could tell her mind was running a mile a minute. She nibbled on her lower lip. Her eyes danced across the room, never settling anywhere for more than a moment. But finally, her gaze turned back to him, and there was a darkness in it.

"What would you do for Harry, Sirius?"

He'd never felt so bloody uncomfortable in her life, so Sirius chuckled. But the intensity of her gaze made him want to give her an answer as well. A good answer, so he settled on the truth, "Well, grow up for one. You were right about what Harry needed, a guardian, not a friend, and I've been trying to be that. I won't claim to be perfect, but, thanks to you, I've been trying… Jean, what's wrong? You said Harry's troubles weren't in the past. Is something happening? Is You-Know-Who…"

He couldn't even get the words out. Harry had made some oblique references to an evil Defense Against the Dark Arts professor named Quirrell, but obviously he was gone if Jean had taken the role. Was there more to it? Was there something Harry hadn't told him? That Dumbledore hadn't told him?

Of course there was—who was Sirius kidding? The thing he'd always hated about the Order of the Phoenix was the way Dumbledore would pick and choose what to share with them. He'd understood the dangers of having information tortured out of them, but they weren't children. There was keeping things on a need-to-know basis and then just not telling people what they needed to know. Dumbledore, Sirius recalled, didn't know where that line fell.

"How good are you at occlumency?"

Occlumency!—Sirius couldn't help but gape. Who on earth knew how to do occlumency? Well, he did, he supposed, as did anyone with training as an auror. But Jean? Even if she was a Defense professor she was still just a professor. Why would she have learned?

_You know, maybe you should learn how she spent the first twenty-six years of her life before asking her to marry you after all. It looks like there might be some frightening secrets beneath that beautiful hair. _

"I'm decent enough that I can't get a fair trial under Veritaserum. What's wrong?"

Jean didn't answer right away. She sat back in her chair, swirled her wine, took a long sip, and _then_ she answered, "I confiscated a horcrux from Ginny Weasley the first week of school—Voldemort's horcrux."

Sirius wasn't ready to admit that he didn't know what that meant. The word horcrux tickled the back of his mind, like some memory which begged to be recalled. But he just couldn't place it. Obviously they were bad though. Anything that Voldemort bothered with had to be quite bad.

"How did she get _that_? The Weasleys aren't a dark family!"

"I believe—though I have no proof—that Lucius Malfoy gave it to her. Unfortunately, we don't have any way to destroy it. Even Dumbledore is frightened of using Fiendfyre and we don't happen to have any basilisk venom on hand."

"Well I certainly don't. Haven't basilisks been extinct for some hundred years? Unless you're hoping I'm going to go put a chicken egg under a toad for you, but, quite frankly, I'm not looking to return to Azkaban—or get myself killed." Sirius was being snippy and he knew it. He also knew being snippy was definitely not a good way to get her to like him. Still, he was flustered. His little 'date' had turned into a very serious conversation. If he was willing to just ask what a horcrux was, he might actually know _how_ serious a conversation it was, but he didn't want to seem dumb on top of rude.

Luckily Jean Watson was the brightest witch Sirius had ever met. She frowned for one moment, gave him a good once over, and realized exactly what was going on, "Sirius, a horcrux stores a part of Voldemort's soul. So long as they exist, Voldemort isn't really gone. All he needs is a semi-competent potioneer and he'll be flesh and blood! I'm surprised it's taken him this long, Quirrell must have been terrible at potions to not even try."

Sirius rubbed his face, dragging his eyelids as he did. What? Just what? "Wait, wait, wait. Slow down, I'm still two chapters behind, I think. Quirrell—isn't he the old Defense teacher? Harry told me they had a problem with him."

"A problem?" Jean seemed to think that was funny, but in the horrific way Nazi jokes were funny. "Sirius, I think you need to ask Harry to give you a rather fuller picture of his first year at Hogwarts. He didn't have a problem with Quirrell. He killed Quirrell, or Quirrell killed himself trying to kill Harry, no one ever made it clear which. But Voldemort possessed Quirrell and was trying to get the Philosopher's Stone to resurrect himself with. Harry was the only reason he didn't succeed considering the traps Dumbledore set up were foiled by three first-years!"

Sirius was beginning to wonder if his Firewhiskey hadn't gone bad. Surely this was just some nutty hallucination. He wasn't actually being told that his godson had been taught by Voldemort _for a year_. That would be insane, completely and utterly insane. Someone would have noticed. Dumbledore. The Ministry. Anyone at all. No, Jean must have heard of his reputation as a marauder and was pulling his leg.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink, "You know, you actually had me going there for a moment. Quite funny, Professor. But I've been catching up on my history by looking at Prophet headlines. I would have noticed one from June discussing the return of Voldemort."

"I don't think it ever was in the papers, actually," Jean admitted, furrowing her brow. "I never thought about it, but Dumbledore must have kept it quiet for some reason or another. But it's true. Ask Harry. Ask Dumbledore, for that matter. Just tell him Harry brought it up and not me or he'll obliviate you."

Sirius was a prankster at heart, so he knew this wasn't a prank. But still, how could it be true either? And why wouldn't Harry have told him. He'd thought, he'd really thought, that his godson knew he could trust Sirius. Was he wrong? Did Harry still not understand that it was Sirius's job to protect him, but that he needed to know things to do that jobs. Or for that matter, didn't Dumbledore know that?

"Swear on your magic you're telling the truth," Sirius demanded of her. He knew she was, but still, it was better to be sure. Besides, it gave him a moment longer to consider what the bloody hell he was supposed to do.

Except she didn't even take a moment. Jean Watson didn't hesitate to make an oath which would strip her of her magic, "By my troth and upon my magic, I swear it."

Hell. Well, that was that then. And Sirius's date it seemed, was over. "You can get me into Hogwarts, can't you? I think Professor Dumbledore and I need to have a chat about my godson."

She seemed surprised by his determination, and, frankly, Sirius was a bit insulted. Didn't she get that he had every intention of being a responsible adult? It wasn't his fault if he had a bit of arrested development. He'd been arrested at twenty-one! But no, he was free now, and he was Harry's guardian now, and he owed it to James to protect Harry.

Maybe his eyes said just that, because after her initial hesitancy, Jean nodded. "Alright, but like I said, don't mention I told you this."

Sirius wanted to know just what she meant by that, but didn't bother to ask. Instead, they apparated to Hogsmeade, then passed through a passageway even Sirius had never known existed. It was dark and cold, and if Sirius accidentally touched her ass while crawling behind her, it really was an accident. He wasn't thinking about their not-date or where he wanted their relationship to go. He was just thinking about Harry.

When a light finally appeared, they emerged in the teacher's lounge. It was empty, to be expected on a Saturday night, but as they headed towards Dumbledore's office, the hairs on Sirius's neck began to stand on edge. It was quiet—too quiet. It wasn't even time for curfew, but no students roamed the halls. There was no sound of laughter and even the portraits seemed too busy running from one frame to another, whispering. A thick dread settled in Sirius's stomach, yet there was nothing he could do but press on.

Finally, they reached the headmaster's office. Jean offered the password—_red vines_—and then they ascended. Sirius felt his throat constrict. It felt far too much like that Halloween night. He'd known something was wrong when Peter hadn't been in his hideout. He'd gone straight to Godric's Hallow, seen the damage, and yet, as he'd entered the cottage, there'd still been hope. The worst kind of hope though. The kind of desperate hope that you knew was about to be disappointed. And it had been. He'd barely stepped in the house before he'd found James and now, now would he reach the Headmaster's office and find Harry, tiny little Harry, lying dead all the same?

They reached the landing and for a moment, Sirius thought the office was empty. But then he spotted Dumbledore standing head in a pensieve by the window. Whatever memory he was absorbed in must have ended, though, because a moment later he pulled his head up. When Dumbledore turned to them, he smiled, a tense, morbid smile that made Sirius's heart drop.

"Jean. Sirius. I just sent messengers to find you both. It's Harry. I am afraid to say that he has disappeared."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Draco Malfoy ruined everything and that was about all Harry had to say about it.

It was supposed to be fun. All the first and second years, regardless of house, getting together to play a game. After all, everyone knew Hogwarts was the best place in the world for a game of hide-and-seek. Not only was it huge, it had all sorts of hidden passageways and corridors. They'd had to completely change the rules of the game because they knew it would get boring waiting for someone to find everyone—if they even could. Instead, each house took turns trying to find as many people as they could, tallying points based on how many they found in each round. That had been Hermione's idea, of course, and brilliant therefore. Of course they weren't real points because no first-year had permission to give house points, but still, it was a fun competition, even if the Slytherins were involved. And Harry thought it was an impressive display of inter-house cooperation, so maybe they even could convince a professor to give them the points for real.

Or maybe he could have if Malfoy hadn't ruined everything.

They were already on their fourth round, the Slytherins' turn. Harry had already been a seeker himself, and figured he'd stick with being a quidditch seeker from then-on-out. Not only had he failed to find anyone, he'd also gotten so lost that he'd forgotten to find a spot to hide when it was the Hufflepuff turn to seek. Hannah Abbot had found him just standing in a hallway looking confused. But as the new round started, Harry was determined he wasn't about to be found by some slimy Slytherin.

Unfortunately, Harry was on the second floor, could hear footsteps coming closer, and had nowhere to hide. So, in an act of desperation, he ducked into a bathroom—the girl's bathroom—and ran right into Draco Malfoy.

The blond-haired git didn't look like he'd been playing. Instead, he was standing by the sink, running his finger along the faucet, a scowl across his face. Harry froze, wondering if he could escape before Malfoy noticed him. But then Malfoy looked up.

"Found you."

Harry wanted to scream in frustration. This was just his luck! But Malfoy was acting rather suspicious, so thoughts of the game flew from his head. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a place to hide, you idiot," Malfoy sneered.

"It's not your turn to hide and you know it. That's why they call you a seeker. Or maybe, since you can't bribe yourself a spot onto the hide-and-seek team, you're not a seeker this time around."

Harry knew that was a rather rude thing to say, but this was Malfoy after all, so he didn't feel bad. Not even as the boy clenched his firsts and turned towards him, wand high. "What did you say?"

It was stupid. It was foolish. It was exactly the kind of thing Sirius would say he should do, so Harry raised his own wand, "I said that no one wants you around, Malfoy."

"Want to duel, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Very well_, expelliarmus_!"

Harry dodged to the side like Professor Watson had showed them, then, because he couldn't think of anything else, tried the same spell, "_Expelliarmus!"_

Malfoy didn't dodge, but Harry mustn't have controlled the spell well, because instead of simply disarming the boy, it sent him flying, wand still in hand. _You should finish him while he's down, _a voice in Harry's mind suggested, but he knew it wasn't right. Instead, he waited until Malfoy had crawled to his feet, then quickly cast, "_Rictumsempra_!"

Harry had never heard Malfoy laugh before, but now the boy could hardly move he was laughing so hard. Somehow, though, he managed to blurt out a spell. But because he was a nasty git, instead of blurting out the counter-curse, he jumped at the chance to curse Harry himself, "_Serpensortia_!"

A snake burst out of Malfoy's wand. For a moment, Harry froze. He wasn't scared of snakes, per-say, but this snake didn't look very friendly. It flicked its tongue like it was trying to decide just how tasty Harry would be.

Malfoy must have used the counter-curse, because he stopped laughing. Well, he stopped giggling. Now he laughed at Harry. "Scared of a little snake, Potter? So much for a lion."

The snake crept forward, opening its mouth wide. Harry knew snakes could open their mouths so wide they swallowed their prey whole, and, not wanting to know what that felt like, he did the sensible thing and asked kindly, "Can you please not open your mouth like that?"

Suddenly, three things happened simultaneously.

The snake stopped dead, tilting its head, "Can you understand me, baby two-leg?"

Malfoy, wide-eyed and frightened shouted, "You're a parselmouth!"

And, most importantly, the bathroom started to shake. Harry shrieked as the sink he was leaning against began to sink into the ground. It sank until Harry couldn't see anything at all, and in its place was a large, dark pipe.

"You did it," Malfoy whispered, ignoring the snake completely and walking towards Harry, eyes wide. "You figured out how to open the Chamber of Secrets. But how? Only the heir of Slytherin should be able to open it. Father said…"

Harry didn't have a clue what Malfoy was going on about. He was too focused on the snake. It had slithered closer to them and was coming rather near Malfoy's legs. Without thinking, Harry pushed Malfoy out of the way. Then Malfoy pushed Harry back and suddenly the two boys were grappling, neither really sure of what was going on, until they fell—right into the wide pipe.

Harry plummeted. He didn't know where he was going or if there even was anything at the bottom. He quite suspected there wasn't. _I wonder how long I can keep falling. It takes days to die of thirst, doesn't it? Can you really fall for days?_

Malfoy's shrieking made it too difficult for Harry to decide, but it proved pointless. Suddenly the tunnel seemed to right itself, and Harry and Malfoy found themselves tumbling to the ground of a dark chamber. For a moment, Harry couldn't see anything, but then he remembered he was a wizard, and lit his wand, "_Lumos maxima."_

The light was blinding at first, but once Harry's eyes adjusted, he could make out a large stone corridor. Water dripped down the walls, giving it a musty, humid stench. Malfoy waved his hand in front of his nose, gagging. Then, Harry's wand landed on something large and white. It took him a moment, but then Harry realized it was a giant snakeskin the size of the great hall. "It's not possible," he whispered. "No snake could be that big!"

"Not a snake!" Malfoy hissed. "But a basilisk could! What have you done?"

"What have I done? You're the one who knocked us down here!"

"Well you're the one who opened the door with your freaky parseltongue!"

"Well you're the one who was creeping around the girl's bathroom," Harry replied, knowing full well it was a dumb thing to say. But he couldn't say nothing and Malfoy just made him so angry. Harry didn't even know why, the blond git just did.

Still, they seemed to have found themselves in a proper mess, and Harry knew fighting would do them no good. So he sighed and asked in a much calmer tone, "Why were you hanging around there anyway?"

"I was looking for the Chamber of Secrets, not that a muggle-loving half-blood like you would even know what that is. But my father told me all about it, asked if there had been any talk about it opening, actually. But how can _you_ open it? You're not a Slytherin."

"I don't even know how I opened it," Harry sullenly replied. "It's not like I was trying to."

"You weren't?" Malfoy tilted his head so he looked a bit like a confused puppy. "But then what were you saying in Parseltongue?"

Oh yes, now Harry knew why he'd always hated Draco—the boy had the unique ability to make him feel like a complete idiot. Even now, over a year since their first meeting, Draco just seemed to throw out all these words that Harry had never heard before. He'd even been trying extra hard in his classes this year, especially Defense, but what did it matter? Sometimes it felt like he'd never catch up from a decade with the Dursleys.

Still, at least Harry didn't care anymore whether or not Malfoy knew he was ignorant. Harry didn't care what Malfoy thought one bit. "I don't even know what Parseltongue is."

Malfoy scoffed, "Don't be absurd. You were just using it. You were speaking to the snake!"

Of course Harry had been speaking to the snake, but it almost sounded like Malfoy was suggesting, "Are you saying I was talking in another language? That's ridiculous! I'd think I'd know if I was speaking in another language."

"Well it wasn't a proper language, was it? Just this low hissing. At first I thought you were just being weird, but then the snake seemed to listen to you, and the chamber opened. Father said I wouldn't be able to open it because you needed a parseltongue but I didn't believe him! After all he seemed to think it would open soon and I knew there were no parseltongues in Slytherin. But I can't believe he meant you! You're Harry Potter—you can't be the heir of Slytherin. You're a bloody Gryffindor."

He said it like that was the worst insult he could possibly think of. Harry found that more than a little amusing, but didn't call Draco out on it. Mostly because he was too confused, "What does being the Heir of Slytherin have to do with it?"

"You're really quite daft, Potter. It's no wonder Granger is such a know-it-all. She's probably been sucking out all your brain cells."

"Well at least I had some to suck out in the first place. Crabbe and Goyle were too dumb for you to get anything from," Harry snarled. He knew it was childish, pointless even, to fight with Draco, but he couldn't resist. The boy was just so mean, insulting Hermione and Ron when they weren't even there to defend themselves. It made Harry's blood boil.

But much to Harry's surprise, Draco didn't get angry. No, the boy actually laughed, laughed so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye. "I didn't know you could actually be funny, Potter."

Draco thought he was funny? To think, Harry would never have imagined anything could surprise him more than discovering he could speak a different language. But this definitely had. Yet, for some reason, it made him smile. Weird to think he could make Draco laugh. Weird to think of Draco laughing and not just hurling insults. But Harry supposed people did strange things when stuck in creepy places.

And they were definitely stuck. Harry glanced back at the tunnel they'd slid down; there was no way they'd be able to get back up. Maybe if he could fly, but Harry didn't have his broom. Hopefully someone would realize they were missing soon and come find them… though the fact that they were all supposed to be playing hide-and-seek might mean it would take a while.

Harry sighed, brushed off a piece of the floor, and sat down. If he was going to wait, he'd have to make himself comfortable.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I'm not about to stand until they find us. It could take hours! Might as well sit down—unless you're scared of a little dirt?"

"I'm not scared, Potter. But I'm not just going to sit here. _I'm_ going to find a way out."

"You couldn't even find a way in, I don't see how you're going to find a way out," Harry muttered under his breath. But it was loud enough for Draco to hear.

"Well then _you're_ going to find us a way out."

Harry snorted; not while Draco spoke to him like that he wasn't. "I'm not one of your servants, you know. Just sit down and let me think. I don't even know what's going on. What is this place? What does it have to do with me being able to speak to snakes. I thought all wizards could do that."

Draco sighed dramatically, but sat down across from Harry. "I suppose I can't fault you for being woefully ignorant, raised by muggles, but wouldn't you think that if people could talk to snakes we'd have more lying around? Parselmouths are really rare. The only two I know of are You-Know-Who and Salazar Slytherin himself! Why do you think the Slytherin symbol is a snake?"

"I figured it was just a metaphor for you all being slimy and lacking a backbone, or are you telling me Godric Gryffindor could talk to lions?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but there was an embarrassed flush to his cheeks too. "Don't be absurd, no one can talk to lions and only an idiot would try. I don't know where the other house symbols come from and I don't care. Slytherin could talk to snakes and so can his descendants. That's why You-Know-Who could, you know, Father said they were related."

Harry shifted awkwardly. The way Draco spoke about Voldemort, it was unlike anyone else Harry had ever heard. There was almost… reverence. Draco almost seemed to admire Voldemort. But how could anyone admire a murderer? It was insane, and yet… Yet hadn't Sirius said Malfoy's father was a Death Eater? Hagrid had said the same thing during their first trip to Diagon Alley now that Harry thought about it. But still, the thought of it sent shiver's down Harry's back. How could anyone be raised wishing Voldemort had lived?

"He killed my parents. I don't care who he was related to."

For what it was worth, Draco actually looked a bit embarrassed. "Uh, yeah, I know…I'm not saying I support him or anything, but still, he was the Heir of Slytherin and even a Gryffindor has to admit that's impressive."

Not really. Harry didn't care who was related to who. "Isn't Zacharias Smith related to Helga Hufflepuff? And Professor Watson went to Ilvermorny and the woman who founded that was related to Slytherin too. I bet loads of people are."

Draco looked quite miffed by that, but couldn't refute it. Instead, he just changed the subject, "Well maybe you are too, if you're a parselmouth. Tthe Potters are really ancient. Not as ancient as the Malfoys, of course, we're one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but maybe you're related to Slytherin somehow."

Harry hoped not. If he was, then that would mean he was related to Voldemort somehow. Sirius has said all pure-blood families were related, but Harry had never considered that might include Voldemort. It was weird to think of Voldemort as even having a family. Up until that moment, Harry had just assumed Voldemort sprung out of the earth fully formed in all his evil glory. But he must have been a child once. Maybe he'd even gone to Hogwarts. The thought made Harry shiver. He didn't like sharing anything with Voldemort, especially not his home.

"Aren't you and I related too?" Harry suddenly asked, drawing surprised looks from Draco. "Sirius said your mum's his cousin and something about my grandmother."

"Great-great aunt, I think. Mother tried to get me to memorize the whole family tree once, but it seemed awfully pointless. But yeah, Lord Black is my second cousin… he's your godfather, right? Mother is right angry about it because I was supposed to inherit the Black fortune when I came of age."

"And you're not?" Harry found it hard to imagine Draco passing up money and titles. But the boy just shrugged.

"I'll still be Lord Malfoy, and it's not like I need a blood-traitor's money. It's a shame what he'll do to the Black name, of course, but it doesn't bother me… You know he actually freed his house elf? Mother said the poor creature nearly died of shame, but she took it into her service, of course. We all know it's Black, not the elf that's a disgrace to the pure-blood name… uh, no offense."

Harry was definitely offended, but decided, after a moment, that Sirius would probably take it as a compliment. Mostly he was just reminded of the only other 'house elf' he'd ever met. "I didn't know Sirius even had a house elf. I'm not a huge fan myself. This summer one came into my house and dropped a cake on my uncle's business partners."

Harry didn't have a clue why he was telling Draco this, but the boy seemed to find it funny. He snorted a laugh, and then said with a wide grin, "That's perfect. I would have paid to see that."

Draco no doubt meant it in a cruel, muggle-bashing way, but Harry let it be. He even laughed slightly at the memory himself. Now that he was free from the Dursleys forever, it was kind of amusing. Uncle Vernon's face had been as purple as the upholstery.

The conversation drifted off, and the two boys sat in silence for a moment. Then, Draco laid back on the cold stone, "This is boring."

"Don't worry. They'll find us soon."

* * *

They did not find them soon.

The minutes stretched to hours, and Harry began to get very worried. It was hard to keep track of time, but from the pains in Harry's stomach, it had to be approaching dinner. He and Draco had already dueled twice—once when they got in an argument about Hermione and once for fun. Then they'd played a game Draco knew that involved saying random words until you invented a spell or set yourself on fire. They'd even taken a nap, though it was difficult to sleep on the cold stone. Still, no one had rescued them.

"Come on," Harry finally told Draco, climbing to his feet and stretching his aching legs. "Maybe if we try climbing back up it will work."

That they hadn't tried it until then proved they knew it was a fool's errand, but still, Harry gave it a shot. He managed to climb a few feet up by pressing his back against one wall and his feet the other, but it hurt dreadfully, and eventually his legs gave out.

"Maybe I can use _wingardium leviosa _and then you can go get help," Harry suggested.

"I'd rather die down here than have you levitate me up. But I'll give it a shot with you."

That proved to work better, though once Harry was fair enough up the slide that Draco couldn't see him, the whole thing fell to pieces. He came crashing down, this time landing hard and flipping over onto his arm. Pain shot through Harry's body; he knew it was broken. So much for their daring escape. His arm hurt horrible, his stomach worse, but Harry hid it from Draco. At least it wasn't his wand arm.

"Come on, maybe there is another way out," Harry suggested, heading deeper down the corridor. But then Draco grabbed his arm, sending shooting pain up it. Harry hissed.

"Sorry. But Harry, we can't go on. Aren't you wondering how that basilisk skin got there? I, for one, don't want to know."

"What's a basilisk?"

"A giant snake that kills you just by looking at it. Don't you bloody well read?"

Harry did read. He just didn't memorize everything like Hermione—or apparently Draco—did. Still, that did sound rather terrifying. It made sense too, a giant snake in the chamber of a man who could talk to snakes.

"Maybe I could talk to it and tell it not to look at us then?"

"That's really not how it works, but fine, if you want to be the Boy-Who-Died go on. I'm staying right here."

Harry was scared. He was in pain. The part of him that was just an ordinary twelve-year-old boy screamed that Draco was right and they should just keep waiting. But they'd been waiting for hours and no one had come. In Harry's experience, that meant no one was coming. He used to spend days locked in his cupboard, waiting for someone to let him out, but they never did. Now he knew it was his accidental magic that had always unlocked the cupboard from the outside. If the Dursleys had had their way, he probably would have died down there.

And then there was last year, with Quirrell. If Harry had waited for someone to save him he would have died. It was only because Hermione went and got help that Dumbledore had arrived in time. No one ever came. It was up to Harry to solve things himself.

"I'm not going to go far, but there has to be something. Slytherin needed to have a way to get out, maybe I just need to find the right words in Parseltongue." He'd already tried speaking to the slide and asking for stairs, but without a snake, he couldn't seem to get the language to come out.

Harry expected Draco to do as he'd promised and remain there, but much to his surprise, the Slytherin followed. When Harry raised an eyebrow, Draco flushed, "Well I'm not about to trust a Gryffindor. For all I know you'll break free and leave me down here."

They both knew Harry wouldn't have done that six hours before, and he certainly wouldn't six hours later. Harry wouldn't quite say that he and Draco were suddenly friends, but they understood each other well enough now. And Harry had to admit, Draco was braver than he looked.

The pair moved in silence down the corridor. They'd explored some before, just enough to ensure there wasn't an obvious way out, but now, they scoured the walls for anything that might be a clue. From what Draco has told Harry (and in turn been told by his father) there was a basilisk slumbering down there somewhere. Since it obviously wasn't in the area where they were, there had to be more to the hidden passageways, but how to find them? Harry ran his fingers along the damp walls, looking for some way out.

"I really wish I could cast a patronus right now," Harry sighed.

"Scared of the dark, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. They both knew that wasn't true, and really, Draco was just making an idiot out of himself at this point, "No, to send as a messenger. Don't you pay attention in Defense?"

"Of course I do!" Draco scoffed, then he smiled, and Harry knew he was in trouble. "Some of us just aren't in love with Professor Watson."

For the first time, Harry was deeply grateful that they were stuck in a dark dungeon; Draco couldn't see his brush. "I'm not in love with Professor Watson."

"Please, name one other class you ever raise your hand in. You and Weasley both, fawning over her. Even Granger has noticed it. Mind you, I think she's jealous. Are you and her an item? I've never been able to figure it out."

Harry laughed hysterically, embarrassment forgotten. Alright, Draco was way off-base, so that meant Harry was perfectly safe. "You're out of your mind. Me and Hermione? She's just a mate. A sister, really… I don't even like girls."

"Oh really?" Draco snickered. "Am I more your type then?"

_What? _Harry wondered. It took the poor, naïve boy a moment to realize what Draco was implying, but then he panicked. "Wait no! That's not what I meant! I just mean, you know, that we're too young for that, aren't we?"

"Tell that to Astoria Greengrass. The girl practically worships me, but I'm of course not interested. Not because I don't like girls. Of course I like girls. Just not, you know, her."

"I thought her name was Daphne Greengrass."

"Merlin's beard you're thick, Harry," Draco rolled his eyes. "Astoria is Daphne's kid sister, she's not at Hogwarts yet. They're old family friends."

Harry frowned, wondering if that meant their parents were Death Eaters too. He hadn't asked Draco any more about his father and Voldemort, afraid to break the uneasy calm between them, but it was hard not to wonder. It was harder still not to want some sort of explanation. Yet Harry knew Draco wouldn't have one, at least not one that made any difference, so he let it rest and continued searching for a way out.

"What are some other ways we could send a message?" Draco wondered aloud. "We don't have a floo, so no firecalling. The ministry uses enchanted parchment for internal messages, but I don't know the spell… I also don't have any parchment, do you?"

Harry nodded absentmindedly. There was something on the wall that had caught his attention. It was a bunch of snakes, or the image of them, at least. If parseltongue could open the chamber, it made sense that it could close it as well. Or hopefully get them out and then close it before the killer giant snake escaped.

"Exit," Harry said to the snake.

"What?" Draco asked. "Did you find an exit?"

"Quiet. I'm trying to use parseltongue," Harry hissed. (But not actually, because he couldn't figure out how to switch languages.)

The boy took a deep breath, focusing on the snakes. Then he imagined he was speaking not to the wall, but to the snake itself. This time Harry heard a low hiss come from his mouth. The snakes immediately sprung to life, slithering around until Harry heard a loud—_click_—and the door sprung open.

It wasn't an exit. Instead the door revealed a large, open chamber. Large stone snakes lined either wall, pools of water dripping between them. But the thing which really caught Harry's eye was the giant stone statue of a man. He had a large wispy beard, again reminding Harry of giant snakes.

"That's Salazar Slytherin!"

Harry could have guessed that from the context, but it was nice to have Draco's confirmation. The Slytherin boy seemed fascinated by the new chamber. Harry just felt nervous. He could hear something. He wanted to believe it was just the dripping water, but he knew it wasn't. It sounded like hissing, but it also sounded like a voice.

"I think we should go back," Harry told Draco, grabbing the boy's arm. "We're getting closer to the basilisk."

"Well good thing I'm a pureblood and you're a parseltongue," Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be a girl, Potter. If this is the main chamber then there has to be a way out. Come on, let's keep looking."

Harry had a very bad feeling about this, but followed behind Draco. The closer they got to Slytherin's head, though, the more certain Harry was that there was something behind there, something awake. "I think it's probably best I don't use any parseltongue in here. I don't want to free it."

"A Gryffindor with a brain, how refreshing. Come on, I think I see light coming from down there."

Harry didn't see anything, but followed Draco. They were off to the side in a little pipe when Harry heard the sound of movement coming from the main chamber. He and Draco froze.

"You don't think that that's…" Draco whispered, trailing off with a gulp. Unfortunately, Harry did think it was the basilisk. He didn't know how it had gotten out, but he didn't know what else it could be.

"Close your eyes," Harry ordered Draco.

"And then what? Wait for it to come and eat us?" Draco was panicking, Harry could hear it in the boy's voice. And this was definitely not the time for panicking.

"Stay here and keep your eyes shut. I'm going to go investigate. See if I can lure it back into its lair."

"Harry, don't!" Draco cried, but Harry ignored him. He squeezed his eyes tight, and then retraced his steps best he could. His heart pounded, the blood flowed to his ears until they burned.

_I wonder how Voldemort managed to control the basilisk anyway, _Harry idly thought. _I mean, it's not like there are directions around on how to be an Heir to Slytherin, are there? It's just bloody unlucky he didn't accidentally kill himself in the process, isn't it?_

The stupid thoughts made Harry smile and feel better, but the air was getting colder, so he thought he was close to the main chamber. He slowed his walk, thinking. He really should have come up with some plan before going to investigate. Then again, he really should have never come down here in the first place.

"Obey me, giant-snake," he said on a whim, unsure what language he was even speaking in. "I am your master. Return to your slumber."

"Harry? Harry is that you?"

The boy's eyes flew open. He knew that voice! "Professor Watson?"

Four lights appeared at the edge of the chamber, and Harry's heart soared. The noise he'd heard wasn't the basilisk at all! No, help had finally arrived.

"HARRY!" Another voice shouted, and Harry's heart swelled. Sirius! Sirius had come for him. And Professor Watson. And Professor Dumbledore. And was that…

"Draco! Draco you can come out it's your dad not a basilisk!" Harry shouted, thrilled. He couldn't say much more though because Sirius dashed towards him, wrapping Harry in a big hug. It made the boy feel warm and safe. He was safe. They'd actually come for him. He was safe.


	11. Chapter 11

Hey y'all. I hope you are all as healthy and safe as you can be in these crazy times. I have a lot of excuses for why this update is coming 4 months late. Some are legitimate. Most aren't. All I really want to say is that when I finally got to courage to check all the reviews tonight, I was expecting people yelling at me for disappearing. Instead everyone was so kind and supportive, so here is the next chapter. I hope to have another one up sometime next week. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 11

Hermione was thinking about destiny. She couldn't help it, not after the day she'd had. The Chamber of Secrets. Somehow Harry and Draco had found themselves in the Chamber of Secrets.

Now Hermione wouldn't say she remembered their all-school game of hide-and-seek from her second year. She vaguely remembered something like that occurring, but she certainly didn't recall Harry finding himself stuck in the Chamber of Secrets. That was the kind of thing she imagined she would recall.

Destiny. Prophecy. Fate. They weren't things Hermione usually took the time to consider. She'd always found divination to be a crock full of baloney. Everyone else seemed to think it was real, but Hermione had never been convinced. Perhaps the prophecy regarding Harry and Voldemort had come true, but perhaps it hadn't. It hadn't made much sense, after all_. "Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."_ What did that even mean? Harry and the rest of the world seemed to think that meant Harry had to kill Voldemort or Voldemort would kill Harry, but really, that wasn't what it said. Because quite frankly, Harry and Voldemort had both lived simultaneously. Sure, the prophecy could be interpreted metaphorically, that neither could live unchallenged while the other lived, but if one part of a prophecy could be a metaphor, then the whole thing was rubbish, wasn't it? The whole thing could be one huge metaphor, after all. In which case it meant nothing. Never mind the fact that it implied that Harry could only die at Voldemort's hand, in which case Harry would have become immortal after Voldemort died…

Now Hermione would never have said that to Harry, of course. He'd considered the prophecy fulfilled and been content with that. But Hermione hadn't been. It all seemed too outlandish for her. Destiny, prophecy, fate—Hermione didn't believe in that. She believed in choices. She believed in logic. Perhaps every prophecy was true if you interpreted it with the benefit of hindsight, if you _made_ it true, but besides that, there was no such thing as destiny. Hermione had been certain of it.

Now, she wasn't.

It was just too much of a coincidence. She'd confiscated the diary, ensuring the Chamber wouldn't be opened, and then, suddenly, Harry's game of hide-and-seek ended in a six-hour trek to Salazar Slytherin's evil lair. There was absolutely no logical reason why confiscating a diary should cause hide-and-seek to become so deadly. None what-so-ever.

Which meant that the reason _wasn't logical._ The cascading events—Malfoy Sr. asking his son to investigate why the chamber had gone unopened, Draco happening to summon a snake, Harry using just the right words in parseltongue to open the passage, the boys falling down—they were so improbable they should have been impossible. But they weren't. Everything had come together exactly right so Harry still ended up in the Chamber of Secrets at the age of twelve.

_At least he didn't free the basilisk, _she tried desperately to reassure herself. _And no one has been petrified. Things are changing. They are._

But not enough. That was the problem, things were changing, but not enough. Which meant there was some force, some inexplicable force, fighting back against Hermione's changes. And the only name she could think of for such a thing was _Fate_.

But if Fate was real, really real, then what in the world was Hermione supposed to do? Hermione couldn't even keep Harry out of the Chamber of Secrets; she couldn't possibly prevent the Battle of Hogwarts. How was she supposed to make any meaningful changes at all, how was she supposed to protect Harry, if Fate determined he must be the one to kill Voldemort?

"No, Albus! For once in your bloody life it's your turn to listen!"

Sirius's shouting drew Hermione back to the present.

"He's _my _godson! You don't get to decide anymore what I do and don't get to know! I get to know everything. I get to tell Harry everything if I damn well pleased. If I'm supposed to act like a bloody adult, I'll expect to be treated like one. Now tell me—why haven't you told anyone that Voldemort spent a year teaching at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore glanced over at Hermione and she shrugged, feeling a little guilty. She didn't exactly regret the tidbits of information she'd given Sirius over dinner; she just regretted that she'd told him the same night Harry got lost in the Chamber of Secrets. Fate's hand was not something she'd taken in account when planning how to use Sirius to change the future.

It was too late for this anyway. Hermione hated that she'd become such an old woman, but it was eleven o'clock at night, and she didn't have the energy to listen to grown men argue. Harry and Draco were both alright, this time. News of the Chamber's existence would spread across the school within days, but since none of the students were parselmouths, they should be safe. Hermione was more concerned about Lucius Malfoy, but the pompous Death Eater had been legitimately concerned for his son's safety. Hopefully, he'd realize a bit earlier in this timeline that helping Voldemort and caring for his son were incompatible. Hopefully.

"I understand your anger, Sirius. I care deeply about Harry myself. Still, you must see this from my point of view. At the moment, Voldemort is weak, incredibly so. More importantly, he is alone. Quirrell knew of my suspicions and went looking for Voldemort. Now Quirrell was just a fool, but what do you imagine would happen if a Death Eater with power and wealth heard their former master lived? What would happen then? Friendship, family, love—these are what make a wizard strong. At the moment, Voldemort is alone and his supporters are more afraid of the Wizengamot then their master. For now, that is the best we can do. With any luck, the next generation will be grown before he returns."

Sirius didn't seem the least bit calmed by Dumbledore's rather reasonable explanations, "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. If this is about that stupid prophecy…"

"You're aware of the prophecy?"

Sirius just glared at the man. If this wasn't so serious, Hermione might have found it amusing. "Of course I know about the prophecy. Lily and James were terrified! But it's a load of horse dung. Prophecies aren't real and Harry is not the only one who can kill Voldemort."

"You're wrong," the words escaped Hermione's mouth before she'd even thought them. Immediately Sirius's furious glare turned on her. Still, Hermione held firm, even if her voice wavered. "I mean, I'm no expert, and I have to admit I'm skeptical but… but what if Dumbledore is right? What if Harry really is the only one who can defeat Voldemort once-and-for-all? Maybe holding him off until Harry is of age, teaching Harry how to defend himself… maybe that is all we can do."

"Of course you're on _his_ side," Sirius barked. "And to think, I thought you honestly cared about Harry."

There were many things Hermione would take. She was a woman, a muggleborn woman at that, and she knew that, sometimes, you just had to have thick skin. But if there was one thing she was not about to permit, it was questioning of her motives. Sirius's words made her angry in a way she'd never imagined, "I do care about Harry! Of course I care about Harry, but I'd rather we face reality and prepare him than bury our heads in the sand and hope it all works out!"

"Prophecies don't always come true. The Hall of Prophecies is full of of prophecies that never came true," Sirius reminded them. There was something in his eyes though, a certain fear that hadn't been there before Hermione spoke. Maybe he was worried that if she believed it too, it just might be true.

"Au contraire, my boy," Dumbledore countered sounding far too proud for the situation. "The Hall of Prophecies is full of prophecies which have not been fulfilled. There is a grave difference between the two. Had the words been spoken and yet both parties unaware of the prophecy's existence, it is quite likely it would have gone unfulfilled. But that was not the case. Voldemort learned of the prophecy in-part, and he acted upon it. And in that choice, he marked Harry as his equal, giving Harry the power to defeat him, a power even I fear even I lack. No, I am afraid to say we are eleven years beyond the prophecy remaining unfulfilled. The only action which it spoke of was Voldemort marking his equal, and through his free will that has come to pass. The rest of the prophecy is simply the consequence. Harry has this power now, though he does not know it—and I dare say should not know it for a great many years. When Voldemort returns, and it is only a matter of when, he will come after Harry until one of them kills the other. That is not fate; that is fact. Even if he did not fear the power Harry has—and I am certain he does— Harry is a symbol of resistance against him, of his weakness. No, I fear the prophecy has been fulfilled. It is only a matter of how long until it comes true."

That… that made sense, and Hermione wasn't the least bit happy about it. It was true, then. She couldn't change things, not completely. She could alter them. She could ease some of Harry's suffering, save some lives, but in the end, it would have to be Harry and Voldemort. It would always have to be Harry and Voldemort.

Sirius must have realized Dumbledore was telling the truth also, because he slunk into a seat, looking defeated. For a long moment, the man sat with his head in his hands. Finally, he looked up, appearing far older than he'd ever been. "I'll take Harry and go abroad. If Voldemort can't find us, he'll have to give up."

"He would not. You would spend your whole life on the run—and that is no life at all. Besides, would Harry truly wish to condemn the world to Voldemort's terror?"

They all knew he wouldn't. Harry was just good like that. After all, wasn't that Harry's power? He could love, love deeper and more intensely than the rest of them combined. He'd never run away when they were all in danger.

"Sirius, I understand this is upsetting, but you must admit, we are in a rather advantageous position," Dumbledore remarked smiling as if it wasn't a very inappropriate time to smile.

Sirius certainly didn't appreciate it. "Oh yes, because the twelve year old fighting a mass murder is definitely advantageous. You do realize that if this prophecy is true then Harry is the _only one_ who can kill Voldemort. If he dies, we're all screwed."

"Sirius," Hermione felt rather shaky, but her voice came out confident. "You're missing the point. Voldemort isn't around. He needs help, and at the moment he's alone in Albania. All we have to do is delay him. Harry is a powerful wizard. With time, he'll be Voldemort's equal in more ways than one. If we can give him that time—limit Voldemort's political support, turn his followers against him, destroy any horcruxes— and train Harry, he'll be prepared to fight back when it is time. And I know he'll want to. No one is saying he has to do this alone. In fact, if Harry's power is love then he mustn't do it alone. He'll have us."

"And who are you in all of this, Professor Watson?"

Sirius's words stung. They were fair, very fair, but they stung. Maybe they stung because they were so fair. Who was she in this timeline? A teacher who'd known Harry for a month? A woman who'd gone on one not-date with Sirius? A member of the nonexistent Order of the Phoenix?

Because she wasn't Harry's friend. She wasn't even Hermione Granger. And while she could probably tell Sirius the truth without Dumbledore obliviating him again, she didn't really want to. It still seemed wise to keep that information as close to the breast as possible. If she told Sirius exactly how it went down the first time, what a disaster it had been, he'd no doubt grab Harry and run for the hills. _Slow_, Dumbledore had told her. She needed to take it slow and steady.

"I'm his teacher, Lord Black. I stand _in loco parentis_, and, furthermore, I care about him. And I care about defeating Voldemort for reasons that are none of your business."

"She is also Harry's tutor," Dumbledore added, a broad smile across his face.

"What?" Sirius shook his head. "Why does Harry need a tutor?"

"He's saying I should give Harry private lessons," Hermione explained. "That way Harry will be even more prepared. As his guardian, it would be your right to hire me, though I think it may be less suspicious if I was to offer private lessons to all students." Images of the DA flashed through her head. "Though there is the question of what we're going to tell Harry. Now I'm certain Dumbledore would like to tell him nothing."

"He is too young."

Typical Dumbledore.

"I, for one, think that's foolish. I've already told Harry that Voldemort believed Harry to be a threat, and after last year, he knows Voldemort isn't truly gone. I did mention that he might want to know occlumency before learning much more. But you're his godfather, Sirius. Ultimately, you have to decide."

Sirius seemed legitimately shocked to be handed the choice, but Hermione was quite proud to see him sit back and legitimately ponder it. He'd been telling the truth during their disastrous dinner; he really was trying to be a proper adult. It both surprised and pleased Hermione.

"Could you teach him occlumency?"

Hermione frowned. Could she? In the original timeline Harry had been rather rubbish at occlumency, but then, Snape wasn't very good at teaching anything. He'd picked up occlumency before Ron during their auror training, even if neither of them had ever mastered it to the point that you couldn't tell they were occluding. Hermione herself struggled with that unless she put effort into it.

But who else could teach him? Sirius wasn't around during the school year. Dumbledore would probably come up with some excuse why it couldn't possibly be him. Snape was definitely out of the question. So all that left was Hermione.

"I can try. He's rather young to learn, but it's worth a shot."

Sirius nodded, then took another moment to consider. "For the moment we stick with the simple truth. Voldemort is out there and will come back. When he does, Harry will be in danger for having defeated him twice already, so he needs to learn how to be prepared. I'll tell him about the prophecy myself when I think he's old enough to understand or when Voldemort comes back—whichever comes first."

Even Dumbledore seemed content with that arrangement. He beamed brightly, "Perfect. Then it seems Harry shall be well taken care of."

"There's still the matter of the horcruxes, though," Hermione interjected. Dumbledore seemed less appreciate of her mentioning those in front of Sirius, but he just sighed, didn't start obliviating again. "I told you, Sirius, that we found one. Dumbledore suspects Voldemort wouldn't have been content with just one. I'll take it upon myself to… research where others might be if there are others, but I may need your assistance in finding them. And destroying them… Sirius, I hate to ask it, but what would be your thoughts on allowing Harry to go back down to the Chamber, with us of course, but to lure out the basilisk. They're easy to kill with a rooster. All we need is for Harry to open the doors."

"Absolutely not. Are you insane?"

Sometimes Hermione felt it. But at the moment, she was just tired, "We can't keep parts of Voldemort's soul just lying around. I need basilisk venom if I'm going to safely dispose of them. Harry is the only parseltongue I know of, and only a parseltongue could open the chambers. I don't think it's a coincidence that Harry and Draco ended up down there. I think it's fate."

"Fate," Sirius scoffed, rubbing his beard. "Fine, but not until after the first quidditch match. He has too much on his plate already, and I'd like him to get in a bit of training first. Surely this horcrux has waited eleven years. It can wait a few more weeks."

That was fair. Hermione was nervous about leaving the diary in Dumbledore's care much longer, but he seemed unaffected after a month with the thing. Hopefully they would be fine to leave it until then. And Hermione wouldn't mind getting in a few training sessions with Harry first. Maybe the dueling club wasn't a terrible idea…

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, "It may also be wise for us to recruit other allies, a new Order of the Phoenix, so to speak. If Voldemort does return, it could be useful to have contacts within the ministry. I'm not sure I trust Fudge not to simply dismiss the truth out of inconvenience."

Hermione didn't remember telling Dumbledore about her fifth year, so she supposed he was just perceptive. That or her occlumency shields were worse than she thought and she'd make an absolutely terrible teacher. But that was a depressing thought, so she figured she'd settle on the former.

"And, as Lord Black, I may be able to limit the political power of his supporters. Starting with Lucius Malfoy, the git."

Things were coming together surprisingly well, and Hermione smiled. They'd have their work cut out ahead of them, but she suddenly felt like she had a path. Up until that point she'd just been floundering, changing things when the moment seemed to permit it, or hiding in the background doing nothing at all. Now there was a plan. Train Harry. Destroy the horcruxes. Delay Voldemort. When he finally did come back, they'd be much more prepared than the first time around.

Fate. It was such a tricky subject. It felt oppressive, burdensome, but in a way, it was freeing. It gave them purpose. It gave them a path. And it gave them hope too. Hermione was still nervous that her changes would result in even more death than the first time around, but she was steadily hopeful. Destiny would still come to pass. Harry would still win. But with her help, he'd hopefully have a smoother time of it. For the first time since coming to the past, Hermione's future felt clear.

"Well then, if that is settled it is quite past my bedtime," Dumbledore announced, standing up and stretching. "I shall discreetly begin recruiting for the Order, and will inform you both when we are ready for our first meeting. I trust, Jean, that you can see Sirius out through your personal floo?"

She frowned. What was Dumbledore playing at? If he thought for one second that Sirius was going to be a part of her newly crafted plan for the future, well he had another thing coming.

_You're being defensive, _she told herself. _Sirius just needs a way to leave and he's giving us a chance to talk privately. Considering we showed up together, he probably doesn't realize it wasn't actually a date._

Hermione hoped the rational side of her was right. She really didn't want to deal with it if she was wrong.

* * *

"How come Dumbledore trusts you with all of this?" Sirius asked her once they got to her chambers. Hermione was a bit surprised that was the first thing he'd said, but she supposed it made sense.

Too bad she didn't have a good answer, "I'm a Professor. Why wouldn't he trust me?"

"Quirrell was a professor," he wisely noted. "Where you what? Head Girl in your year?"

Actually, yes, but that was one of the many things Hermione couldn't admit to. "I didn't go to Hogwarts. My family and I moved to Boston when I was ten, so I attended Ilvermorny instead. Dumbledore and I just have an understanding. He knows I'll do anything to stop Voldemort."

"But why? What did he ever do to you?"

Wasn't him being a murderous maniac enough for her to dislike him? Did Hermione really need a personal vendetta to be worthy of Sirius's trust? Perhaps she did. It was hard for Hermione to hide her passion, after all. It stood to reason that there was a reason behind it.

"I had a friend," she tepidly began, unsure where she'd end up. "He was the one who told me I was a witch, actually. We lived near each other and he saw me doing magic, told me all about it… This was back here in Britain. After we moved, I tried to keep in contact, but he… uh… he died. Whole family killed in a raid by Death Eaters. The war never felt distant after that, even if I was safe in the States. Now I'm here and I find out he's back, that he was never really gone at all, and it makes my blood boil. These kids, my students, Harry—they don't deserve to grow up like we did, terrified for themselves, for their friends. They deserve better."

Sirius nodded slowly, "Yes, they do. And we're going to give it to them."


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Here is another update for y'all and I'll post the next chapter tomorrow. Sorry for the irregularity of updates. Also, I think I'm just going to go to calling her Jean all the time. I've been reading some other fanfics that do that (mostly Star Wars and calling time-travelling Obi-Wan "Ben") and I like the effect it has. Enjoy!

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Chapter 12

Halloween passed without any incident what-so-ever. Unless, of course, you count Fred and George earning themselves a detention for turning all the giant pumpkins into flesh-eating monsters. Luckily for everyone, it was the first-year Gryffindors who stumbled upon them. A bunch of eleven-year-olds against pumpkins with teeth may not _seem_ lucky, but one of those eleven-year-olds was Ginny Weasley. The poor pumpkins—and her brothers— never knew what had hit them.

But that wasn't important, that was just an ordinary day at Hogwarts. No, all Jean cared about was that, as the clock stuck midnight, Mrs. Norris was still wandering the halls, a beady-eyed menace. Whatever destiny demanded, that Halloween there was no writing on the walls and Jean spotted Ginny and Luna cheerfully hunting for nargles after the feast. Whatever dangers fate presented, this was proof that Jean could change things. Proof that she was making a difference.

Time alone would tell if she'd actually changed things for good.

But November 1st fell on a Sunday, and Jean was up bright and early to prepare for her little dueling club. About a fourth of the school had signed up, fewer than in the original timeline, but then, they'd all been scared back then. Now the signups were just those who seemed legitimately interested in learning how to duel.

Jean herself was a bit torn about this. She'd never been a big fan of dueling, to be frank, but she also would never have turned down an opportunity for extra learning. Mostly, though—and she knew this proved she was a bad teacher—Jean was just hoping the numbers would dwindle going forth so she could ensure Harry was getting all the instructions he needed. Because that was what this was really about, training Harry without him ever knowing he was being trained. And while it may also be a good way for Jean to catch up her students from their other, rather lacking, DADA professors, if Harry got lost in the crowd…

_Well then you'll just find another way to teach him. Stop thinking so much. It will all be fine._

She almost believed it too. Except she also knew that she'd asked Snape to help her run the little club, and while he'd readily agreed, he would no doubt make her life difficult. She'd asked Flitwick too, dueling champion he was, but he was too busy with choir and a feeble attempt to revive the old Christmas theater. So she'd settled on Snape, just like Lockheart had settled on Snape. Though she, at least, knew how to block an _expelliarmus._

Most of the students arrived first. Jean was just relieved when Harry, Ron and Hermione all made it. Draco made it as well. Much to Jean's surprise, he was standing away from the rest of the Slytherins, looking glum. She worried a bit about what that would mean, but put it aside. For the moment, Jean could only afford to be Professor Watson, not Hermione-Granger-On-A-Mission-To-Save-All-My-Classmates-From-Their-Own-Bad-Choices-Oh-And-Voldemort-Too.

Jean was nervous. That was the truth of it. She hadn't dueled since the Battle of Hogwarts, and that had been more of a fight for her life than a duel. While it all had come back easy enough to her as she looked over textbooks and wrote curriculum, Jean was nervous she'd look like an idiot. It had been years since Jean had worried, properly worried, about getting an answer wrong. But she was terrified. It was stupid. And childish. And _vain_. But she was terrified.

The clock struck one, and Jean cast a glance towards the door. Snape wasn't yet in attendance, but no doubt he'd show up late for dramatic effect. She could at least begin.

"Well, welcome everyone," she told them forcing a smile. It was stupid because she stood in front of these kids every day, but with them in such a large group… it was just different. It made her heart pound. Merlin's beard, she was out of practice.

"I am glad to see so many people in attendance. Now, I'll be honest from the front, I never did any dueling in my youth. Not of the formal kind, at least. But I do believe it's a valuable skill to learn, and it can be fun as well. So, basic principles of a formal duel. Each partner first vows then takes their position. The winner is decided when one partner surrenders or is incapacitated. Now, depending on the situation the definition of incapacitated will change, but I would like to make it clear that for our situation, incapacitated means they are no longer in a position to cast back. Additionally, depending on the duel various spells may or may not be permissible, but, of course, the Unforgivable are always illegal. Not even aurors are allowed to use them, nor do they have any need to. And for our purposes, we will forbid any spells which you have invented until such time which you demonstrate to me they are not overtly harmful. Which brings me to the most important point—you are not here to hurt people. This is not a forum for embarrassing your friends or enemies. There is no point in using a severing charm when you could just as easily use a tickling charm. The most important characteristics of a successful dueler are level-headedness, ingenuity, and responsiveness. You should always be thinking more about what your partner is about to do than about what you are going to do."

The doors swung open, and Snape stalked inside, his dark robes billowing in a dramatic fair. Some of the younger students, especially Neville, looked rather terrified, but Jean found she more wanted to laugh. Even if he had been on the right side in the end, Snape was a ridiculous, bitter, pompous human being. The fact that she'd worked beside him for two months without him ever once offering to chat just proved it. Severus Snape may be a hero, but he wasn't a nice person.

And he wasn't nearly as interesting as he thought he was.

"Ah, perfect timing. Now, before we split you into pairs I've asked Professor Snape if he'd be willing to partner with me for a demonstration. Neither Professor Snape nor I are dueling champions, you'll have to talk to Professor Flitwick if you're curious about that, but we both have a rather large body of personal experience. I would like to mention that while we could restrain ourselves only to spells and techniques you are likely to use, I think it benefits you all to see what could be possible. So, if there aren't any questions…" She paused, legitimately waiting for questions. "Good, then, Professor Snape, we may begin."

Snape gave her a look Jean couldn't quite decipher, but then twirled, taking his place at the center of the platform. Jean's heart pounded as she did the same. _This duel isn't real. _She reminded herself. _This is about education, not fighting Death Eaters._

As logically as she knew it, Jean still couldn't shake the fear. But she didn't need to. All she needed to do was go on anyway, and at least the fear made her mind sharp. She bowed to Snape, then backed away, taking her position.

"On the count of three, one."

"Two."

"Three"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego."

Well, she was already doing better than Lockheart, at least. Though the duel certainly wasn't about to go quickly. She tried casting a silent _stupefy,_ but he batted it away equally as silently. A holler from some of the older students proved they, at least, knew what was going on, but Jean didn't let herself get distracted. She deflected three spells from Snape at once, one she was fairly certain to be an invention of his. She hit back just as hard.

Wands twirled. They both were following the rules of a proper duel, avoiding bringing in objects around them, though Jean's instincts told him to just hit him on the head with a chair. It was taxing. Using so much magic in such rapid succession was as draining as if they were caught in a fist fight. A bead of sweat dripped down Jean's brow. Snape looked unaffected, though perhaps he was just better at hiding it. Or perhaps he was the better wizard, the more experienced dueler. Jean didn't know, and she didn't like that either. She tried to keep her mind quiet, to just focus, but found herself growing rather panicked as the duel went on. She needed to end it. Unfortunately, creativity had never been her strong suit in duels. Usually it was _stupefy_-_until-it-works_, but she'd need more to defeat Snape.

"Levicorpus!"

"Liberacorpus!"

Darn it, Jean was an idiot? Why would she use a spell he'd invented against him? Not that he'd know she knew he invented it but sti…

Jean went flying as she failed to block a particularly nasty jinx. She crawled to her feet before he could hit her again, and hit him with a _stupefy_ just as he tried to petrify her. The two spells rebounded, knocking both duelers onto the ground, but Jean managed to pull up a shield charm powerful enough that it send Snape soaring off the platform and against the wall.

Before he could get back up, Jean summoned his wand and cast, "Ferula maxima", wrapping the man up in bandages like a mummy. She waited to see if he'd keep going, but he didn't move, surrendering.

The students cheered. Jean felt a bit bad, knowing they just didn't like Snape, but she was too elated to really care. She'd won. She'd actually won. Of course she'd known Snape was good, but she'd never realized quite how good. It felt more like luck than skill, but it was skill enough. She'd won, and Jean enjoyed the thrill of knowing she was once more the best.

_You probably shouldn't be so pleased about this, _she chided herself, but it did little good. It felt good to succeed, to have people compliment her once more. She'd long missed the positive affirmations of her school days. You never got those as an adult.

Snape unbound himself, then shook her hand. He looked impressed, but when their eyes met, Jean felt something pressing against her mental shields. She pushed him back and then glared—how dare he try to use legilimency against her? She was tempted to curse him against just to make her point, but let it be. There were students to teach, after all. She'd deal with Snape later.

"Alright. Well, now that you've seen what is possible, I'd like for you all to pair up with someone in your same year. That's important so you're at relatively equal skill levels. And just see what happens. Professor Snape and I will be walking around to ensure there are no problems, and if you do need our help, red sparks to get our attention, or ask any of the upper years."

The students set to work, breaking into pairs and bowing. Jean was slightly nervous about letting them just go at it like this, it seemed a bit like a recipe for disaster, but then, this was Hogwarts. The good thing about magic was that it could easily repair even rather egregious injuries. And it definitely helped that Jean knew none of her more.. obtuse students had signed up. Though she definitely stayed closer to the first and second years, and not just because of Harry.

Speaking of Harry though… He seemed to be doing well. He'd partnered up with Hermione, Ron partnering with Neville. Since both boys had nearly non-functional wands, however, they weren't doing much besides pointing at each other and looking silly. Harry and Hermione, though, were quickly engaged in what could actually be called a duel.

They didn't know many spells, but they knew the basics. Better-yet, they were trying.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouted.

"_Protego_," Hermione countered. She didn't actually know the spell, that was clear from the girl's wand movements, but she did a good job copying what Professor Watson had demonstrated. It made the teacher smile. As odd as it was to be proud of yourself, it felt doubly good.

"_Petrificus totalus_!"

"_Protego_?" Harry bat away the body-bind uncertainly. But it worked. In fact, it did better than work. He put enough force in the shield that it rebounded, and Hermione, with a squeak, had to dodge to the side to avoid it. She managed, just, but not when Harry followed with, "_Expelliarmus_."

Hermione's wand flung from her hand and clattered onto the ground. Ron and Neville burst out into applause, and many of the nearby students looked impressed. Professor Watson was impressed herself. Even knowing all that these kids would do, all they were capable of, it was still amazing to see how they made do with the limited knowledge they had.

"Five points to Gryffindor. That was very good, both of you, though I'd recommend at the moment you focus more on dodging spells than defensive magic," Professor Watson told the second-years. "They can be quite draining to your magical core."

Hermione seemed to have gotten over her loss quickly, and, bright eyed, asked Professor Watson, "Professor? When you cast spells without words, are you still saying the words in your head, or is it more like accidental magic, with the focus on intent?"

Somehow, Hermione Granger's precocious and perceptive questions continued to surprise even Professor Jean Watson. She couldn't remember asking questions like that at thirteen, at least. Which could only mean that the students were actually learning more in this new timeline than the original. And that, that was something Jean could be uniquely proud of. That was all her.

"It's a combination of the two, I would say. If you have a specific spell you wish to cast then you need to incant it nonverbally, but, theoretically, a trained wizard could move beyond that to a spell of intent. When I was a fourth year, I invented a spell to work as a sort of magical compass and the incantation was in English, 'Point me', as my own understanding of geomagnetism was really the driving mechanism behind it. And my husband invented a spell to turn rats yellow as a way to spite his brother…"

Jean stopped herself. Not only was she rambling, she'd also just strayed too close to the truth. The trio all shared a look, a look of _I told you so, _that proved she was in for a right amount of trouble. Best to just shut up before Dumbledore started obliviating all over again.

_Jean, you really have quite a large mouth. _

"Well, that's a matter for another time, but I can recommend you some books about it, Miss Granger. For now, though, just keep up the good work."

Jean made a hasty retreat, a bit too hasty probably, but tried to stop cringing as she moved on to observing the rest of her students. Most of them weren't doing much. A few students had knocked their friends onto their asses, but little else. In many ways, it felt like a resounding failure of education. The DA had been so much better. But then, they'd all had a reason for wanting to learn extra defense outside of defense. Even if Jean was to shift the club's focus, she doubted many students would stick with it. Unlike with the DA, none of these students were scared for their lives.

Jones Rooks went flying across the hall, drawing everyone's attention. Professor Watson cast a quick cushioning charm to soften the blow, and then turned to see a rather embarrassed Cedric Diggory standing without a partner. "Eh, sorry."

Professor Watson just shook her head and continued her rounds. They may not know it yet, but this very well could still save their lives. If only she could figure out how to keep them safe, and prepare them as well.

HPHPHP

Two hours later the last of the students had cleared out and Jean settled in her private rooms. All-and-all, it hadn't been a disaster. No snakes had been summoned. No Parselmouths reveled. And only three kids with injuries bad enough to land them in the hospital wing. Of course, one of those students was Ron, whose wand had backfired against him.

_I should really just buy the boy a new wand. It's not like I really need my salary for much else, with room and board provided and no friends. _

A loud knock sounded on the door. Then, some muffled chatter. Then, another knock, this one precise and clean. Jean didn't know what that was about, but, wand ready, she opened the door.

Harry's green eyes shone up at her, then looked away quickly. "Sorry, Professor. I told them not to."

"Them", it seemed, was Ron and Hermione. The two both stood on either side of Harry, chins high, though Jean knew herself well enough to recognize the young girl's nervousness.

Well this would be interesting. A slight panic built within her chest, remembering her unwise words from earlier, but surely, surely a woman who'd been on the fast-track for Minister for Magic could handle three second-years.

"What can I do for you three?"

"Hello, Professor. We're very sorry to intrude but we were worried… Well we were honestly worried we'd lose our nerve if we waited. You see, Harry has been talking a great bit with Sirius Black, he's Harry's godfather, though of course you know that. And Sirius suggested to Harry that we should really trust you, which I'll admit has been a bit difficult, because you can be a bit… odd at times. A good odd I'm sure, but after Professor Quirrell turned out to be a bit evil, we've been rather nervous."

Ron butt in, rolling his eyes, "And Sirius told Hermione Binns doesn't even read our essays before grading them, so she's having trust issues all around."

What? Professor Binns didn't even read their essays? But Jean had spent hours as a child working on making her essays for that class perfect. How did he even grade them, then? And why didn't Sirius tell her that the first time around!

"Well anyway," Hermione continued blushing. "We've come to apologize. We've been spying on you, sort of, and it's actually been very wrong. But I realized today why it is you always seem to know what we're thinking. You're a legilimens, aren't you?"

Wow. They were so wrong it was amazing. But actually, it was a pretty intelligent guess. And Jean knew instantly that it would definitely be wise to go with it. "Well then, it seems I'm the one who owes you an apology. I swear, I don't actively try to read students minds, but some of you are rather… expressive with your thoughts. It's not meant to be an invasion of privacy, I promise."

"It's alright, Professor," Hermione sweetly answered. "Anthony Goldstein is actually the one who figured it out. Apparently the talent runs in his family. He said his mom struggles to not pick out thoughts sometimes."

Anthony Goldstein came from a family of natural legilimens? Now that was definitely not something Jean had ever known. Of course she'd never been close to Anthony, but still, he'd been in the DA, and friendly as a Hufflepuff. Actually, Jean had had a brief crush on him in their third year, him being both nice and intelligent. She'd always made sure he was her partner in Ancient Runes… Though Anthony _had_ started avoiding her soon after she'd started thinking about just how much she'd like him to ask her to Hogsmeade...

Ron took over before Jean's thoughts could stray too far to her childhood crushes, "But then we were talking, and apparently Snape uses legilimency all the time in his classes. And frankly, that's quite rude. And Sirius said there all sorts of… things… that he'll tell Harry, and Harry can then tell us, if he knew. So we were hoping you'd teach us."

"Teach you legilimency?"

Harry shook his head so fast his glasses almost flew off. "No, teach us occlumency. You said yourself that there were things about Voldemort I couldn't know until I learned how to shield. And Sirius said the same. But I want to know, so I want to learn. And I want to be able to tell Ron and Hermione everything as well, so they need to learn too. And we know it's a lot to ask, and it's not your job, but we'd love it if you'd teach us. I have money I can pay you for your time."

Wow. They'd quite thought this through. Jean was…not so much impressed as... Well yes, impressed, but more… baffled. She didn't know how the changes she'd made had led them here. But since they had…

"It's curious that you should ask that. In fact, Lord Black has already hired me to teach Harry Occlumency. I believe he was going to mention it to you this week. There is no reason why Ron and Hermione cannot join us in these lessons."

The three of them beamed. You'd think she'd just offered them the keys to Santa's workshop.

"Thank you!" Hermione squealed

"Yeah, thank you," both boys quickly followed.

"You're very welcome?"

"Can we start tonight?" Hermione asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Ron and Harry seemed less keen, but didn't object.

Professor Watson, however, still needed to figure out how one went about teaching occlumency, so she decided to give the boys a break. "No. I'll give you a few books I want you all to scan before we begin. Occlumency involves a great deal of quieting your mind, so I'd ask you to work on thinking… not so much of nothing. But of the idea of nothing. As you lie down for bed this week, take the time to imagine something innocuous—rolling fields, an empty quidditch pitch, a hallway that goes on forever. That will be the basis of your defenses. As for tonight, if you want to learn anything it will have to be a spell."

"Can you teach us the patronus?" Harry blurted out, eyes wide. "Uh, I mean, please?"

So far as Jean could remember, Harry had only learned the Patronus so young because the dementors were causing him trouble. In this timeline he'd never even seen a dementor, so why was he so fascinated by it?

"The patronus is well beyond your NEWTS, you know. But, since I have seen second-years learn it, at least in a non-corporeal for, we can start there… Maybe next time you get stuck in a dungeon you'll be able to send your patronus to find help."

Harry's ears turned well, and the rest of them laughed at him. Joy burst from Jean, so much it surprised her. She was rather lonely in 1992. She didn't like thinking about it, but it was true. She missed her friends. She missed them desperately. And if this was how she got them back, if this was all she'd ever get again, well she'd have to make the most of it.

"Alright, well, the incantation is '_expecto patronum'_ but this is one of the spells I was actually referring to earlier. The incantation is less important, so much so that, in France, they use a different spell, '_Spero patronum'. _The key to this spell is a happy memory. It has to be exceptionally happy, so happy it feels like… like you're laughing with your friends. Then, as you focus on that memory, you cast the spell."

All three students stared at her, looking rather baffled. She wondered why. While she'd known as a child how difficult the charm was, the concept of it hadn't been confusing. Of course, she'd been even a year older than them when learning them and… "Intention isn't something you've encountered yet, is it? I think you see it in transfiguration first."

They all shook their heads, Hermione looking rather deflated by the information. So Jean sighed, wandering back to her library. She didn't have nearly as many books as she'd like, having had to start from scratch once she came back, but she had put together a core list of the most useful texts. She pulled out the one she was looking for—_The Wizard's (Hairless) Heart: Theories of Magical Intent_—and handed it to the studious Gryffindor.

"I expect Mr. Weasley will understand the title better than you, but perhaps the three of you can work through this together. When you have time. The occlumency should be your focus, I'm afraid, and even that only after your schoolwork. You're all very young, so I don't want you to get your expectations up. But knowing the theory behind it will be useful as your magical core settles and the spells become easier."

She could tell that they were all disappointed to be walking away with homework but no real skills. But that was life. If they really wanted to learn advanced magic before their time, they'd have to be patient. And Jean would have to be patient and not try to give them too much as well.

"Why don't we plan on meeting up every Sunday at seven. You don't have Quidditch that late, I believe, and that will give us a couple hours before your curfew. How does that sound?"

"Like I've just signed up for another class," Ron muttered, but Jean was confident he'd come with his friends. If just because they were his friends. Hermione would come because she was desperate for the information. As for Harry… well Jean wasn't quite sure what was motivating the boy so. But she appreciated it. It was better he learn these things now instead of while there was a war on.

And if that meant Jean would get the chance to spend a few hours a week with her friends…well then there was nothing to it at all.


	13. Chapter 13

Here's another update for y'all. Friendly reminder, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. It makes me not want to post when I get trolls in the reviews... There is such a thing as constructive criticism; bashing me, my opinions, or this fic does not count! But to everyone who has been very kind, thank you, and this is for you.

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Chapter 13

The weather for the first Quidditch match of the year was unforgiving, and Jean wished she didn't care so much about Harry. Any sane person would remain inside. The wind howled, sending brooms feet off their targets, and rain made it difficult to see. Across the stadium, Jean could see her younger self shaking violently beneath a makeshift umbrella. When half the school had a cold that week, Jean would know why. At least Dumbledore had put a charm over the viewing section for the professors. Why no one bothered to do that for the whole stadium, Jean would never know.

"Excuse me. Pardon me, Minnie. It's _so_ good to see you."

Jean looked up from the Quidditch Pitch to see a soggy Sirius Black raucously crossing the Professor's Box. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him, but none to her surprise, he sat down right next to her, smelling distinctly of wet dog.

"Hello Jean."

"Hello _Lord Black_," she emphasized the title, knowing it would annoy him. Then she wondered why she felt the need to annoy him, and blushed. "You do realize this box is for Hogwarts Staff only, do you not? The parent viewing box is over there."

He smiled at her and winked. "You wound me. The view is so much better up here, and besides, as the date of a certain member of the staff, I do believe I get to sit right here next to you."

Jean was tempted to agree—on the condition that he remained in dog-form. Unfortunately, Jean Watson didn't know Sirius was an animagus, so she had to bite her tongue.

She must have looked properly pissed, though, because Sirius changed tactics, pleading, "Come on Jean, let me stay. The Malfoys are sitting in the parent box and I think I might get myself sent back to Azkaban if I stay there."

Jean could easily imagine Lucius and Sirius getting in a brawl over who would catch the snitch. So, for the good of the cause, she told him, "Fine, but if anyone asks, I owe you a favor. You're not actually my date."

"Perfect," he grinned, immediately pulling out of his pocket a large, fleece blanket and laying it over them both. "It's chilly up here, isn't it?"

It was cold, even with Dumbledore's charms, so Jean decided it wasn't worth fighting him on. Sooner or later Sirius would realize she was not the least bit interested and move on. Freezing to death wouldn't drill that into his dumb head any quicker, so there was no point in suffering.

Besides, it would give her a good reason to cheer on Harry. Technically only the Heads of Houses were allowed to play favorites, but Jean didn't need to care about Quidditch to bleed Gold and Red. Though speaking of the game, "Tell me, Sirius. How do you think the Gryffindor team managed to scrounge up seven Nimbus 2001's for this match?"

Sirius didn't seem the least bit ashamed of his interference. He puffed out his chest and beamed, "Lucius Malfoy started it. This is simply called 'evening the playing field', Jeanie."

She cringed. Since Jean wasn't actually her name, she'd had the good fortune to never be called 'Jeanie' in her life. Trust Sirius to ruin that. "Well, from what I hear Gryffindor would have done just fine without your interference."

"James was a brilliant Quidditch player too, you know," Sirius's gaze fell to Harry as the teams lifted into the air. "Had Harry on a broomstick before the boy could really walk. A little toy, of course, not a real one. Still, James was so proud of how good a flyer Harry was. Youngest seeker in a century—imagine how he would have felt about that? Maybe Harry will even go on to play professionally. James would have if it wasn't for the war."

"Yes, well, war never changes, but it does change everything."

Sirius nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything. At that moment, the balls had been let into the air. Jean wasn't a seeker by any means, but she thought she saw one flicker of gold before the snitch disappeared into the distance. Then, the game was off.

Jean had begun to get an appreciation for Quidditch around the time Ginny joined the Harpies. In the professional levels there was actually strategy beyond 'what seeker could catch the snitch first.' But now that she was back at Hogwarts, she found the game rather boring. The chasers were doing their best, but they couldn't score nearly enough to make the snitch irrelevant.

What was rather more interesting was watching Sirius react to the game. Whenever Gryffindor scored he'd jump from his seat, hooting and hollering. Once when Harry feigned seeing the snitch, Sirius looked like he was going to jump over the railing and try to catch it himself. It was childish, but the amusing kind. He wasn't being irresponsible; he was simply enjoying something as simple as Quidditch.

Then, the whole game went to Hell in a handbasket. A bludger flew at Harry, easily batted off by one of the Weasleys, but then, it came right back. Harry dodged and weaved trying to break free, but the cursed ball wouldn't relent.

_Of course! _Jean snacked herself on the head for her own stupidity. _Dobby has no way of knowing the threat is past. He's still trying to get Harry to leave Hogwarts!_

Jean had a soft spot for all house elves, but the one who'd sacrificed himself to save her especially. At that moment, however, she could have rung the little creature's neck. Merlin's beard, why did he think maiming Harry would solve anything? This was Hogwarts; people got maimed every day.

"What's wrong with that bludger?" Sirius hissed standing and going to the railing. Out there he wasn't protected from the weather, and a bolt of lightning seemed to crash right towards him. He didn't even flinch though. No, he only had eyes for Harry.

"Time out!" Sirius shouted, not that Madame Hooch could hear him through the rain. (And not that she would have cared either. They hadn't even called a proper time out the time Harry was attacked by dementors!)

"We need to do something!" Sirius continued to rampage. But there was nothing to do. Harry continued to zig-and-zag through the crowds. The Slytherin section of the stands actually seemed to find it rather amusing; laughter had broken out in the crowd.

Jean frowned. She knew, logically, that Harry would be fine—minus a few broken bones. Still, it was horrifying to watch. Even more horrifying though was watching Sirius. She'd never wondered how the man had felt about his godson's many misadventures. Now she knew, and it was horrible. He came back towards her, hair soaked, eyes wild, looking more unhinged than when he'd first been freed from Azkaban.

"Can't anyone do something?"

Most of the teachers gathered looked rather confused that he'd even ask. Then, as if they were just noticing his predicament, some started pointing at Harry. Jean could have screamed.

Professor Dumbledore had disappeared. Professor McGonagall was off supervising Lee Jordan's commentary. The only other staff member who seemed the least bit bothered was Snape, but he wasn't doing anything. Instead he was just watching Jean, as if curious to see what _she'd_ do. It sent shivers down her spine,and Jean couldn't shake the feeling that he was judging her.

Fred and George had taken to following Harry closely, keeping the bludger away from him, but it wasn't enough. A deep growl burst from Sirius's chest and he pointed his wand high at the ball, "Immobulus."

After the fact, Jean would vaguely remember why they hadn't tried that the first time around. At the speeds they were flying it was impossible for Sirius to get a lock. The spell nearly hit Draco from where he trailed behind. Undeterred, Sirius tried again, this time landing a hit… on George. The beater immediately froze and came toppling towards the ground. Fred sped after him, leaving Harry undefended. There was nothing the boy could do. The bludger rammed him right in the gut, and the whole crowd felt it.

Even that, however, wasn't enough for Madame Hooch to stop the game. She boomed out, "No crowd interference." And did nothing to alter the course of the rogue bludger, even as it came to finish off Harry. The seeker was sitting dazed atop his broom, clutching his chest. He was too high up for Jean to see clearly, but she could only guess how many ribs he'd broken.

But of course Harry didn't do the logical thing and come to the ground. No, at that moment Draco Malfoy sped off, and without considering his injuries, or the still-rogue bludger, or even the possibility of it being a feint, Harry surged after him.

Draco had the lead. They were on the same brooms. The bludger continued driving Harry off-course. By every account, it should have been a done-deal. But Harry had the one thing Draco never would, and that was raw talent. He ignored the other players, ignored the bludgers, ignored all sanity and just flew. He ended up taking a short cut past a distressed Oliver Wood, flying right through the middle goal post, and pulling out neck and neck with Draco. The two boys leaned over their brooms, jostling for dominance, but then the bludger smacked into the edge of Harry's broom. He went spinning off, nearly knocking Draco over, and then, in the midst of his spiral, he reached out and grabbed the snitch.

"Harry Potter has caught the snitch. 150 points to Gryffindor. Gryffindor wins with—owww, that's gonna hurt."

Jean cringed. The bludger had hit Harry's broom again, breaking it in half and sending the boy tumbling to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud. Immediately Sirius and Jean were off, dashing towards his side. Images of Harry's boneless arm flashed through her head. Lockheart wasn't here to screw it up, but when had Harry been known to have anything but the worst luck?

By the time they made it to Harry's side, the Slytherin beaters had wrangled the bludger back into its case, George had revived his twin, and the Gryffindor team plus Draco were all standing over Harry. The boy was lying on his hand and knees, vomiting up blood. One of his legs had also broken, though if he realized the bone sticking out of his shin, Harry didn't show any sign.

It was a grisly sight, but nothing Jean hadn't seem before. She could probably even fix it herself, yet considering the precedent, she didn't want to tempt fate. Best to just bring him to Madame Pomfrey. When even Sirius hesitated, she wrapped her cloak around him, conjuring a stretcher. "Come on, let's get you to the hospital wing. Fred, you best get checked out as well."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry had been given a sleeping draught and too many potions to count, Fred had been discharged for being a nuisance, and Sirius lingered by his godson's bedside, wondering what James would think if he was there. Probably that Sirius was a horrible godfather, that's what.

Helpless. He'd been utterly and completely helpless to stop it. Just like he'd been helpless to save James and Lily. Just like he'd been helpless to keep Regulus away from the Death Eaters. Sirius's life seemed like one big lesson in failure.

But there wasn't much he could do besides keep failing, was there? The other option was giving up, and that would be the biggest failure of all.

"How's he doing?"

Sirius smirked a bit when he noticed Jean. She looked beautiful as always, and was still missing her cloak, so he could see her long, delicate arms. For all she was delicate on the outside, though, Sirius knew she was tough as nails. He'd panicked when he saw Harry's leg, saw the bone sticking right through the skin, but she'd barely flinched. She was much better at this guardian thing than he was. Sirius would be kidding himself if that wasn't part of what made her so attractive.

"Madame Pomfrey said he'll be healed by morning, like it never happened. Magic, huh?"

"It's awfully convenient," she admitted. "If only we could heal the wounds of the soul with a few potions as well."

Yes, the soul seemed to be the one part of the body magic couldn't touch—unless they were talking dark magic, at least. And these horcruxes Sirius still hadn't gotten any proper answers about.

He cast a glance across the ward; they were the only ones there. (Or the only ones conscious and there, at least.) "That bludger wasn't natural. Do you think…"

"It wasn't Voldemort," she answered, reading his mind. Sirius couldn't hide his relief, though she still looked tightly wound up. "Actually, I do believe this accident stems from a rather misguided attempt to protect Harry. Lucius Malfoy's house elf by the name of Dobby has been interfering since last June in Harry's life, trying to get the boy to leave Hogwarts. He knew about the diary, you see, and didn't want Harry to get caught up in it. It hadn't crossed my mind to tell him the diary had been neutralized."

Sirius wanted to ask her how she knew all that, but decided against it. If this was a new Order of the Phoenix they were founding, he'd have to get used to need-to-know once more. As much as he felt like he needed to know _everything_ as Harry's guardian, he also trusted Jean. She'd told him about the horcruxes after all, told him when even Dumbledore hadn't wanted to. Surely if her source was important she'd share it.

"Bloody elf. Of course it was Lucius's. Are you certain, he didn't put the creature up to it?" That seemed more reasonable than some random elf going to such extremes to 'protect' a boy he'd never met.

But Jean shook her head. "I'm certain… But maybe you shouldn't be."

"Huh?" How did that make sense?

Jean pulled up a chair besides him, a mischievous grin across her face. Sirius's heart soared, really, this was the woman for him. "Legally house elves are extensions of their masters. If they commit a crime, their master is the one liable for damages, not the elf itself because, obviously, they don't own anything. Now, in Dixey vs Perkins back in 1899, the precedent was established that, should a house elf commit a crime against another wizard, the harmed party, in this case Harry, is automatically awarded ownership of said elf. Now of course in that case once Perkins gained the elf he killed the poor thing, and that's honesty the spirit behind the nasty law, but so long as the elf didn't use a wand in the act, it's not a capital offense. So all you have to do is accuse Malfoy of having his elf cheat so Draco would win, and Dobby will transfer into your possession."

"Why do I want an elf that tried to kill Harry?"

"I told you, he didn't try to kill Harry. He tried to protect Harry… in a very misguided manner. But really, Sirius, the way House Elves are treated in this country is horrendous. It's disgusting. Even if many don't want to be free, what does it say about us that we won't even let them? If you want to know what kind of man someone is, look at who he deems his inferior, not his equal. House elves have been made vulnerable by centuries of oppression, and we need to restore the power to them so they can determine what course they want going forth. They have a right to work, yes, but a right to work with dignity and at present…"

She trailed off, blushing."Sorry, I'm rather overextending at the moment. The point is that house elves are sentient beings, with as much inherent value as you or I or anyone else. As for Dobby, he's a very good elf, and cares about Harry quite a bit. Lucius Malfoy will kill him if he finds out that Dobby warned Harry about the diary, but this way Dobby will be transferred to Harry, who, I'm warning you, will want to free him. Those of us raised by muggles are far less comfortable keeping slaves than the rest of magical Britain. But it's alright because Dobby wants to be free, and he'll even keep working for you, if you wish, and not even for a fair price. He wants to work, but he wants to keep his pride too. I'd think that's something you would understand."

It was. Now that Sirius was Lord Black, was everything he'd sworn he'd never be, he realized just how desperately he'd always wanted it. But the price—his freedom and his soul—had never been worth it. If what Jean said was true, then Sirius could relate to the little elf. (Something he'd never imagined saying in his life.)

"If I knew you were such a bleeding heart, I wouldn't have worn white… But fine. I need a knew elf anyway, freed my dear old mother's, the nasty monster."

Jean seemed to stiffed, "You freed Kreacher?"

When had he even told her he had an elf? Sirius didn't remember. But since he didn't remember much of the day he was freed, he considered that wasn't a fair standard. He'd probably just mentioned it then. Or she'd looked it up, house elves were public record. If she really was so into house elf rights, Jean looking up if he owned any might be a sign she was interested in him.

It was definitely more probably that he'd just mentioned the elf while drunk, but Sirius decided to settle on the second possibility. It made it easier to puff up his chest.

"Yeah. I was talking to Remus about you and Kreacher started going on about what my mother would say if she knew I was dating a muggleborn… just not in those terms."

He thought it was rather funny, but Jean still seemed rather bothered by the news. Still, she moved on, "Well, for the moment let's just worry about Dobby and Lucius Malfoy. I can't pin the diary on him, but if he knows we suspect it, it might be enough to frighten him to his senses. At least for the time being."

Sirius doubted an eleven-year stint in Azkaban would be enough to make Lucius Malfoy see sense, but he didn't say anything. It was a good plan.

"Fine, but if he challenges me to an honor duel you have to be my second."

Jean rolled her eyes, "Fine. I pity the poor bastard who has to duel me, though."

Sirius barked a laugh. Literally, which proceeded to make him blush. He'd spent too much time as Padfoot in Azkaban, sometimes it was hard to drop the more dogish characteristics. Luckily Jean didn't pay it any mind. She just smiled, cast a long look at Harry, and left.

Then Sirius was alone once more, watching over his godson. Bloody elf. He should wait a few weeks to free it, show it the way a _Black elf_ lived first. It didn't deserve to get its freedom in exchange for nearly killing Harry.

Unfortunately, neither Jean nor Harry would ever forgive him if he mounted the head of the little creature, and Sirius wasn't really that cruel. So he'd follow the plan, revel in humiliating Malfoy, and hope it won him points with a pretty woman. And maybe the Universe as well. Maybe then he'd stop paying for… well for whatever grave crime he'd spent decades paying for.

* * *

Time passed slowly in the infirmary, but just as Sirius had begun dozing, he heard the shuffling of noise. He jerked up, and Harry did as well, looking quite woozy when he did.

"Sirius? You're here?"

It broke Sirius's heart how surprised Harry sounded, but he didn't have the time to ponder it. He put a finger to his lip, drew his wand, and stepped forward. The noise seemed to be coming from beneath one of the infirmary beds. He paused for a moment to listen.

One of the beds shifted, squeaking loudly. Sirius turned, wand high, to find the attacker, and discovered a ragged looking house elf jumping on the bed next to Harry's. The creature was as surprised to see Sirius as Sirius was to see it, but had one skill Sirius lacked. With a crack, it was gone.

"Dobby?" Harry whispered, rubbing his eyes. "Sirius? Is this a dream?"

"I'm afraid not," Sirius sighed, coming to sit back besides Harry. So that was the pesky creature which had brought them into this mess. Probably a good thing he'd fled. With Harry still lying injured Sirius wouldn't have managed to hold back his stinging hex.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Sirius reassured the boy. Though frankly he just didn't feel like explaining. Maybe he could get Jean to come by and do that. "How are you feeling? Should I go get Madame Pomfrey?"

"I'm fine, really Sirius. Let her sleep," Harry insisted, but his voice was weak. There was a little cringe in there that Sirius knew was pain. Even the best potions needed time—and rest—to mend injuries. Especially in those still growing.

"Sirius? What are you doing here?"

"Watching over you, of course," Sirius thought that was a rather stupid question. Then he realized it wasn't, and his heart was filled with both he deepest regret and the brightest determination. Soon. Soon Harry would realize he was no longer alone.

He seemed rather pleased to discover it, beaming brightly, "Oh. Well you didn't have to stay. I'm really fine… Not that I'm not glad you're here. Or that I want you to leave or…"

"Hush, Harry," Sirius told the boy, reaching out to ease the boy back into his bed. It was nice to see Harry so excited, but it wouldn't do to see him overextend himself. "I want to be here, and since everyone feels guilty about wrongly locking me up, I tend to get what I want these days."

"I really am glad. It's nice… It's nice not to wake up alone."

Sirius agreed. And honestly, he'd sleep better in a chair next to Harry than back home worrying about him. "You flew very well today. The bludger was unfortunate, but I can't believe you still managed to catch the snitch. Your father would be proud, and so, for the record, am I."

Harry blushed bright red, beaming all the way. "It really wasn't anything special. Though I do wonder what was up with that bludger. People really seem to like cursing me during Quidditch, you know."

Sirius did not know and he suspected he very much_ did not wish to know_ what Harry was alluding to. So he did the smart thing and didn't ask. "Yes, well, let's just hope it doesn't happen again, alright? I'm supposed to be quite handsome. Can't have gray hairs messing that up, can I?"

The boy laughed, but his ribs must not have been healed, because he couldn't hide the pain his humor caused. Sirius shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "You should go back to sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"Can you… can you maybe tell me a story?" Harry asked, then immediately shook his head. "Never mind, that's stupid. I'm way too old for stories and you probably don't even want to. Forget about it. I'm sorry I asked."

Sirius wondered if maybe he should press the issue of what, exactly, life was like for Harry with his Aunt and Uncle. After all, twelve was a bit old for a story in bed, but no reasonable child should look so frightened asking a question of his guardian. But since murdering muggles was illegal, perhaps it was better if he didn't ask.

"I'd love to tell you a story, Harry. On one condition. You have to lay there, shut your eyes, and try to fall asleep. Alright?"

"That's three conditions," the cheeky boy answered. Still he lay back down and shut his eyes.

For a moment, Sirius just studied the boy. Merlin's soggy pants, Harry was small. And lying in a hospital bed he looked even smaller, even younger. Sirius had missed so much of Harry's life it hurt. But looking at him there, Sirius realized just how much more there was to come.

But what sort of life would Harry have? With prophecies, and Voldemort, and mad house elves, would he ever truly be safe? Would he ever truly be happy? Sirius loved Harry. He loved Harry as if he was his own blood, because James had been his brother, and Harry was James's. He wasn't James, but he was James's. And that was all that mattered.

And that was why, however much he may fail, Sirius would continue to try, "Once upon a time, there was a dog named Procyon. It was a stupid name, who would name their child after a star, but that was his name because his parents were rather stupid people. But Procyon wasn't like his parents, stupid that is, and so he was quite excited when he was walking through the woods one day and met a beautiful young stag…"


	14. Chapter 14

I think I'm just going to stop promising to update because I will inevitably forget. But i love y'all so thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

Chapter 14

The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix had gotten old, but Sirius knew they were the lucky ones. The rest of their friends hadn't had the chance to grow old. James and Lily certainly hadn't.

Sturgis Podmore had gotten old, which was frightening. Sturgis was only a couple years older than Sirius, so he must have gotten old as well. Moody had more than a few new scars. In fact, the old auror looked horrible. The full moon had been the night before but even Lupin looked better. Of course, the Wolfsbane Sirius had bought his friend no doubt helped. Wolfsbane, Sirius would never get over how fucking great it was.

Aberforth was about as old as his brother, and Dodge the same, so they at least didn't look much different. Emmeline has gray in her hair, but when she caught Sirius looking, she winked. His mind went back to their few nights blowing off steam, and Sirius wondered if she'd ever married. Probably. But he'd have to ask her. If she hadn't… Well maybe she'd at least help him get his mind off of the delicate she-demon that was Jean Watson. At least for a time.

Diggle and Fletcher were both talking animatedly to each other, or perhaps Mundungus was trying to con the excitable wizard. It was hard to know with that one. So slippery no one, not even Dumbledore, seemed to know what house he'd been in at Hogwarts. Sirius didn't even know how that was possible, but it was true.

Sirius scanned Hog's Head. Aberforth had emptied out the place for their meeting, just like the good old days, but there were a few new faces to add to the old. Jean, of course. But also McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and bloody Hell, Snivellus himself. Sirius might have gone over and provoked the man, but before he could, a pink-haired witch stepped in his path and hugged him tight.

"Well, I do like a warm greeting," Sirius chuckled, secretly casting a glance towards Jean. She didn't seem to care one bit that he was being hugged by another witch. Still… _I'm certain she's just hiding her jealousy really, really well._

"You're an idiot, Sirius. A bloody idiot," the witch told him, pulling away. "And I'm so, so sorry for having believed it."

Sirius blinked. Maybe he should think less about Jean and focus more on figuring out who this woman was and why she seemed so familiar with him. Had she been an old flame of his? No, she was definitely too young for that. She hardly seemed out of school, actually, which meant she would have been, what, _nine_, when he was last free. How many nine-year-olds had he known?

Actually, precisely one.

"Nymphie?"

She beamed, her hair shifting to an even more painfully florescent shade of pink. "Merlin's beard, I'll hex you if you call me that. It's just Tonks these days."

"Ah, but everyone isn't your favorite cousin," Sirius reminded her, ruffling her hair. Wow. He couldn't believe she'd gotten so old. Somehow he'd just imagined her exactly as he remembered. He hadn't seen her much in the few months before that Halloween. Andie had been worried about Bellatrix tracking them down for revenge and taken the family on a rather long holiday. But Sirius wished he'd thought to track them down when he'd been freed. They were the only family he had, after all. Or at least the only family he'd ever recognize.

"Try me, then, but I'll warn you, I'm in auror training with Moody himself. You really want to see what kind of hexes I know?"

"Well yes, actually I do, Nymphie," Sirius smirked. His cousin scowled, but just cast a silent stinging jinx. Ha! Like Sirius even felt something so simple these days.

He could have gone on teasing her, but Remus came over, grabbing his shoulder. "Why don't we leave Dora alone. I think she's quite serious in her threats."

"No, I'm Sirius."

Sirius barked a laugh as Remus cringed. "Forgive me, I am eleven years out of practice avoiding that joke."

Depressingly, Sirius couldn't think of a response to that which wouldn't make his friend feel like a monster. The truth was, Sirius was still hurt that Moony had ever believed he was guilty. But at the same time, why had he suggested Peter, and not Remus, for the real Secret Keeper? He'd been suspicious as well, unable to look beyond the name 'werewolf' and see his friend. Maybe Remus had just been unable to see Sirius underneath the name 'Black'.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Remus asked, sounding rather more somber than was ever to be desired. Still, Sirius knew it had to be important, and, with one more wink to Dora, followed his friend off to the side.

They pulled into a little booth, then Remus glanced over to where Jean was sitting alone, reading. "It's a book on teaching occlumency. When I asked her about it, she said she's trying to teach Harry and his friends—with your permission. Sirius, aren't they a little young for that?"

Guilt crept over Sirius. He'd tried to keep Remus up-to-date about Harry and him, but he'd done a rather rubbish job of it. He'd given his only two-way mirror to Harry, a decision he didn't really regret, but that meant it was hard to chat with Remus. Especially since the man was currently working odd-hours in muggle Wales of all places.

"You should come and live with me," Sirius blurted out.

Remus shook his head, blinking. "I'm sorry, what? Sirius, were you even listening to me?"

"No. I mean, yes, I was listening. Jean wants to teach Harry occlumency so we can tell him Order secrets and the such. It's not important. I have full confidence in both her and Harry. No, what's important is that you should come live with me. Hear me out before you go on about not needing charity. Face it, you do. We all do. Charity is just another word for love, isn't it? You're… you're my best mate, Remus, which maybe isn't saying much these days because you're also my only mate, but it means everything to me. So I love you, and I want to help you. But if you're too proud to accept it for that reason, just think of it this way—I need you. I don't know anything about these last eleven years. Or how to be a Lord of the Wizengamot. I certainly don't know anything about raising Lily and James's kid! So either you come live with me, or I have to ask Jean to marry me tonight, because I certainly can't function alone. And… Well I'll let Dumbledore explain, but there's a reason he's reforming the Order. You can't be off in Wales because we need you here. And I have more money than I will ever need, and Harry does too so I'm not worried about an inheritance, and please, Moony, just consider it."

Sirius knew he'd rambled quite a bit, so he wasn't surprised it took Remus a minute to formulate a response. Still, he held his breath the entire wait.

"Depending on what Dumbledore has to say, I'll consider it."

That was enough of a victory for Sirius, and he didn't bother to hide his grin. Especially because it made Moony smile as well.

"But I might have to turn you down just to see you get hitched. Things going better with her, then?" Remus taunted, tilting his head towards Jean.

"Oh yeah, it's wonderful. She's madly in love with me, as you can tell."

Even with years apart, Remus was used enough to Sirius's nonsense to just roll his eyes and pat his friend on the back. "Like I told you, dead husband really isn't something that just disappears overnight."

Yeah, yeah. Sirius knew that. He really did, logically at least. But still he'd spent years deprived of anything good, and now he had everything he could want. Everything but his dead friends, and this one, stupid, girl.

Before Sirius could defend himself, though, Dumbledore walked in the door, greeting them all with smiles. "Ah yes, glad to see us all reacquainting. Unfortunately, I am needed back at the school soon. The board will be voting on whether to remove Lucius Malfoy from among them for cheating at quidditch."

More than one person laughed at the man's misfortunes. Sirius, the cause of all of them, could only grin. It wasn't what the Death Eater deserved, but only because he deserved far worse.

"Now, my thanks of course to Aberforth for hosting us this fine evening."

The barkeep scoffed at his brother but said nothing. Their relationship was weird though, everyone knew it, so they didn't even bat an eye.

"And now, down to business. I asked you all here in the name of the Order of the Phoenix. While we were not all members during the first war…"

More than one person turned to look at Snape, a man who had definitely not been on their side the first time round.

Dumbledore didn't seem to notice. "You all were aware in some form of its existence. Not that, officially, we have ever existed. However, recent events have encouraged me to rethink my disbanding of the organization. It is well known that I was uncertain of Voldemort's death after that fateful Halloween. I can now confirm with certainty that, as we feared, he is not truly gone. For the moment, he is weak and without allies, but I have reason to believe he will not stay that way. However, it is my hope that we can collectively delay—if not prevent—such a return.

"It can't be!" Molly Weasley's gasp was a bit melodramatic, especially as she was the first one to break the silence. Still, Sirius saw one or two people nodding in agreement. "What would possibly make you think that?"

"Ah, yes, it does seem rather unbelievable," Dumbledore admitted. "Unfortunately, it is thanks to your children, Molly, that we are certain. Our talented Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Jean Watson, wisely recognized a dangerous artifact among your daughter's possessions. While I cannot share with you its exact nature, it definitively proves what Harry reported to me the end of last year—Voldemort having possessed Professor Quirrell."

"Are you meaning to tell me that bastard was at Hogwarts for years and you never noticed?" Moody howled from where he sat, and even Dumbledore looked a bit cowed. "Have you gone mad, or just blind, Albus?"

"It was a gross oversight on my part, Alastair…" Dumbledore sighed, and Sirius saw him looking over at Jean. The woman was sitting very still in her booth, no sign of the shock or fear which littered the rest of the faces in the room. Though of course Sirius wasn't surprised either. They'd both known already.

"And it is due to my own fallibility, of which I have recently been made quite aware, that I have decided to share my findings with all of you, whom I trust inexplicably."

"Not to be rude," Mundungus Fletcher interjected. He was a small man, but he knew how to make himself known when needed. "But then why is _he_ here?"

Mundungus pointed a stubby finger at Snape, and Sirius huffed in agreement. How could Dumbledore possibly trust Snivellus? They all knew what sort of man he was. Sirius didn't believe this story of Snape spying for them at the end of the war. He remembered running into his old enemy, fighting against him, in the last months of the war. It hadn't felt like they'd been on the same side. And, from the way Harry told it, the man favored his Slytherins and tortured the Gryffindors, a sure sign of his true allegiances if there ever was one.

"I assure you all, Severus has my utmost confidence. He would die to defeat Voldemort, the same as the rest of you, and so his inclusion is not up for discussion. While I do enjoy surrounding myself with youth, I hope I can expect us all to be adults here."

Dumbledore's gaze landed on Sirius as he said that, and the man bristled. Sirius could be an adult, but part of being an adult involved not being easily deceived. He didn't trust Snape. He'd never trust Snape. If Peter could turn on them, anyone could, never mind a git like that.

There was no (successful) arguing with Dumbledore, though, and no one even bothered to try.

"Well, then, if there are no more questions…"

Half-a-dozen hands shot in the air. Sirius snorted. As if Dumbledore actually thought he could call them there and then just say _that_.

"Yes, Minerva?"

"Albus, what do you mean You-Know-Who was possessing Quirrell? End of last year you said he'd been affected by a rather deadly infection!"

"Ah… Yes. Well, that may have been a slight manipulation of the truth. I think we could all agree that the parasitic soul of Voldemort is a deadly infection."

No. Sirius doubted any of them could agree to that. Everyone in the room just stared at Dumbledore in horror. Aberforth was the one who put it perfectly, "Albus, are you out of your bloody mind?"

"No, dear brother, I am not," the man didn't sound so amused as he normally did. But then, this wasn't an amusing situation. It was a disaster. Worst of all, Sirius wasn't entirely confident that Dumbledore wasn't responsible for that. Even if he understood the man's reasons for hiding the truth about Voldemort's existence, why had he lied to Professor McGonagall? She was supposed to be his right-hand-woman. What, had Dumbledore expected to manage the situation entirely alone until Jean had gotten involved?

The scary thing was, Sirius knew the answer to be a resounding _yes._

And Dumbledore didn't even seem to notice how badly that looked. "I was concerned about Voldemort's remaining followers seeking him out. This still remains my primary fear, but Jean insisted it would be wise to seek help…"

"So we're listening to a woman who doesn't exist now, are we?" Moody rose from his chair, probably just to seem taller. All it did, though, was reveal how many legs he was missing.

"Alistair, my dear friend, Jean is sitting right there. I am quite certain she exists," Dumbledore said calmly, but there was an edge to his tone. Sirius realized it was taking quite a bit of effort for Dumbledore to remain calm. Jean too looked worried. She was still sitting still, but she'd started to bite her lip.

"Not according to Ministry records, she doesn't," Moody huffed. "You're slipping Albus and I'm watching you, girl."

Sirius was torn between wanting to defend Jean and wondering if Moody was telling the truth. The man was overly paranoid, but he could usually also be believed. _Then again, he knew you. He should have at least made sure you had a trial. The man is looking for the worst in everyone, not the best. _

Still, as logically as Sirius could dismiss Moody's concerns, he still found himself anxiously awaiting Dumbledore's explanation. Instead, though, it was Jean who spoke. She stood up, matching Moody. Even if she wasn't very tall, she managed to look quite intimidating, her black robes pooling at her ankles, and a stern look on her face.

"I'm not included in Ministry records because I've spent months fighting with the Ministry Immigration Bureau. I'm a British citizen by birth, but apparently by attending Ilvermorny I was never registered as a citizen of magical Britain. I'll make an Unbreakable Vow if you want me to; I can be trusted to fight against Voldemort."

"Mighty fine wording you have there. Aye, you can be trusted to fight You-Know-Who, but can you be trusted, huh?"

"Oh my God," Jean huffed, putting on a rather bitter looking smile. "I don't know, Sir, how to convince you of my trustworthiness. I suppose you'll just have to take Professor Dumbledore's word for it. He's well-informed about my life up until this point, and seemingly content. Frankly, I think there are rather more important things to be worried about than my identity. For one, where Voldemort is currently hiding. Or, perhaps, if any other 'Imperiused' Death Eaters happen to retain dark artifacts from their master."

She was talking about Horcruxes, Sirius knew, but no one else would. He was tempted to blurt it out. Still, there had to be a reason Dumbledore and Jean weren't broadcasting the information. It made Sirius wonder how many people even knew what a horcrux was. He hadn't, after all, and he'd grown up in a dark family. No, there had to be a reason they weren't saying anything, so Sirius would keep his mouth shut.

If there was a little, selfish part of him secretly grateful to have his own, private mission… well Sirius knew he wasn't a good person.

"Jean is, of course, correct. Arthur, I believe your office has been conducting a number of raids. Would it perhaps be possible for you to have received an anonymous tip and check Malfoy Manor?"

Arthur looked rather pleased to be included in such an important task. He held his head high, even as he nodded, "I can make it happen, but, unfortunately, we've searched before and found nothing. Most of these old houses have warded spots to hide dark artifacts."

"Check the cellar," Jean and Snape chorused. Then the two immediately stared at each other, only for Snape to snap his gaze away, as if he'd been attacked. Maybe he had. Snivellus used to try and read their minds when they were still in school, but they'd all gotten good enough at Occlumency to throw him back. Jean was certainly good enough at the mental magic to do just the same. It made Sirius smirk.

"Sirius, didn't you just acquire the Malfoy house elf?" Remus pointed out, making the man feel very dumb. Of course! He should have asked Dobby to spill all the Malfoy secrets before freeing him. The elf was still working for him at the price of a galleon a month, but without the binding magic of a master, he might not be able to share his former masters' secrets. Still…

"It's worth a shot. I'll ask him later and let you know anything I learn, Arthur."

"Taking down the Malfoys is well and good," Dora interrupted, seemingly unabashed to speak among so many older people. Sirius was instantly proud to be related to her. "You lot seem to be forgetting that Malfoys weren't the only Death Eaters who walked free. Moody keeps a list, you know. Made me memorize it all."

"You're not supposed to tell them that, stupid girl," Moody chastised, though he clearly didn't mean it. Actually, if Sirius didn't know that Alastair Moody liked nobody on the planet, he might actually have believed that he was fond of Dora.

"But she's also right. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle… half of them are in the ministry still, and Fudge in their pocket."

"I do like to believe that at least some of them have seen the errors of their ways," Dumbledore, ever the hopeless fool, admitted. "However, Alastair, perhaps the auror's office will, discreetly, be able to investigate any allegations of dark artifacts."

"I can catch them in the act no problem," Moody huffed. "It's prosecuting them that's impossible. The entire Wizengamot is filthy with Death Eater money. It doesn't help that every one of Britain's richest families is dark."

"Not every one of them, not anymore," Sirius reminded him. It was still odd to think of himself as the Head of House Black, but it was moments like this when it felt worth it. Especially when he imagined the look on his mother's face if she ever saw. "Perhaps I can buy back a few votes of my own."

"Half of these men still keep their Death Eater costumes somewhere," Jean pointed out. "Aren't there any laws against maintaining terrorist paraphernalia?"

You knew she was muggleborn in moments like that. No pureblood ever would consider such a thing. Even most of the Order looked scandalized. "You can't make it illegal to own something."

"Perhaps" Jean hissed. "But no one who was truly imperiused would keep the ridiculous costume. Even if it's not enough to get them arrested, it's enough to get them _disgraced_. In fact, I think I may know someone at the Daily Prophet who will be glad to spin things our way should we need it."

There was a devilish glint to her eye that Sirius quite adored. Mostly though, this planning felt good. It felt like they were doing something, preparing in a way they'd never been prepared the first time around. If—when—You-Know-Who came back, he'd be facing a very different Order of the Phoenix at the least. Hopefully he'd face a very different Britain as well.

They continued throwing out ideas for a while, working out a schedule of who could best do what. Most of the worked for the Ministry in some manner, which would definitely be helpful. Those who didn't—cough, cough _Mundungus_—would be even more beneficial, keeping an ear to the ground, seeing if there was any movement on the Voldemort front.

Once Dumbledore left and they started to break up, Sirius was left with a calm he'd lacked since his disastrous date with Jean. Harry's name hadn't been mentioned once in their meeting, which felt odd, but helped him to breathe a little easier. Sirius still wasn't convinced by this whole prophecy/fate argument, whatever Dumbledore and Jean said. Harry was just a kid; he didn't need to worry about things like this. The adults could manage it. Just because Sirius had been seventeen when he'd joined the Order the first time around…

No. They'd do better this time. He knew how young seventeen was now, and he'd never let Harry get involved in a war like he had. He'd do better.

"Hey, Sirius," Emmeline's voice broke him from his revelry. "A bunch of us are going to grab drinks, catch up. Feel like joining?"

Drinks with a group of friends, Sirius didn't think he remembered what that was even like. It had been so long. "Eh, sure. Can Remus come too?"

"I'm already going, Sirius," the man chuckled from behind him. "You're the sympathy invitation."

"Oh, yeah then, sounds nice," Sirius meant it too, but then, out of habit, he found himself glancing towards where Jean had been sitting. Was she coming with them? But she was already gone, and he caught sight of her robes as they billowed out of the door. A twinge of hurt passed through him—she couldn't even have said goodbye?

Remus caught him, rolled his eyes, and practically dragged the man towards where the rest of them were waiting. "Leave her be, Sirius. Honestly, you used to be much better at this."

"I'm not so sure about that," Emmeline laughed at him, her voice loud and feminine. It reminded Sirius of better times, and Lily. Emmeline and Lily had gotten along great, always laughing at the men just like that.

"Though you were a lot more fun, then. Of course, we all were. I'm going to regret this tomorrow a lot more than I would have then, but it will be worth it," Emmeline added, a sly grin across her face.

Sirius was excited himself, honestly. Drinking with mates, catching up, it sounded like a great time, exactly the sort of night hangover cures were made for. So why was he feeling like a fourth year who'd just been turned down for a date to Hogsmeade?

"Love doesn't get any easier when you get older, does it?" Sirius asked Remus.

"Nah," Emmeline answered for him. "But good thing is Firewhiskey is also as hard as always."


	15. Chapter 15

An update for Harry's birthday? Why not.

I'm not sure if I'll ever get back to updating this regularly, but I do return to it every once in a while, and someday the inspiration will strike again. Until then, just enjoy.

In other news, occlumency is one of those things that varies from book to movie, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

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Chapter 15

Jean was expecting the "golden trio", not Severus Snape, yet there the dark-haired, hooked nose man was. It surprised her so much that it took her a solid minute to realize he was probing into her mind. Once she recognized his presence, panic rose within her. Panic and anger. How dare he! She pulled up her occlumency shields, slapping him out of her mind. The force of it sent Snape stumbling backwards.

_Good._ Jean smirked, though as he righted himself, she made sure the displeasure was clear on her face, "You can't come into my home and attack my mind!"

Snape just sneered, stepping into her office and shutting the door. Fury burned with Jean, ever brighter. What was he doing? Had he not even heard her? She drew her wand, suddenly nervous. Perhaps he was under the _Imperiatus_. Even Snape wasn't usually this rude.

He raised a brow, at her wand. "Going to curse me, Miss Granger?"

Shit.

"Perhaps you're not quite as talented at legilimency as you believe, you're talking nonsense." Jean herself was impressed by how cool her voice was. Snape ever more so.

Which was odd. Why would that—and not what he'd said—surprise him? But then Snape did something horrific. He laughed. And it made Jean feel quite stupid. (And, oh, how she hated to feel stupid.)

"Professor Dumbledore told me not to speak of the future with you. I should have known he had an ulterior motive.

Hemiones mind spun, running through all the possibilities. Then, it landed on the truth. "You've known this whole time! But Dumbledore wouldn't have told you so… Of course. He wouldn't obliviate _you."_

She shook her head. _I should have known. If Dumbledore wasn't keeping secrets, he wouldn't be Dumbledore_. "You haven't said anything for _months_. I find it difficult to believe you're loyalty is that much stronger than your curiosity."

Snape glared at her and it made Jean light up with joy. She didn't even know why. Harry had always been the one who egged Snape on; Jean had begged him not to. (Though she did remember giggling at one particular _You don't need to call me Sir, Professor_).

But now, she just couldn't stand him. Maybe it was the fact that he'd decided to initiate their professional relationship three months into term by invading her mind. Or perhaps it was the image of Dumbledore's crumpled body. Or even the realization that thirteen-year-old Neville, Neville who'd seen his parents tortured into insanity, was more afraid of his _teacher_ than the woman who'd done it. She'd thought that was horrible back then, but now that she actually was a teacher, she was simply angry.

_I should invite Neville to private lessons as well. It would do wonders for his confidence…_

"I would think a Gryffindor could appreciate loyalty, or perhaps an insufferable know-it-all such as yourself simple cannot comprehend how little I care about whatever petty knowledge of the future you peddle," Snape sneered.

It was odd. The wound which had formed all the times people called Jean a know-it-all had never healed. It was still something she was sensitive about. Yet Snape, Snape who'd taunted her about it more than even Malfoy, couldn't hurt her with these words. It was quite a wonderful feeling, actually, and she wished her friends had come back with her. Neville especially. He deserved to be able to face Snape and not feel the sting any longer.

But Jean would have to stand up to the bully in his honor. "I don't think you have any idea what it means to be loyal. You were loyal to Voldemort, and then he targeted the one person you loved, so you switched sides. Now you're loyal to Dumbledore, to 'the light', but not because you actually care about the cause. You just care about assuaging your own guilt."

Snape drew his wand, fury burning across his face. Jean's heart skipped a beat; she honestly believed he'd hex her. "You don't know half as much as you think you do."

"I think I know more about you than you do," Jean spat back, literally. Spit sprayed from her mouth as she said the words, but the force behind them was necessary. It would take a sledgehammer to drive some sense into the head of Severus Snape. But it seemed he was the next on your list of people to save from themselves.

"You never loved Lily. You were obsessed with her. If you'd loved her, truly loved her, then you would have wanted her to be happy—even when it broke your heart. If you loved Lily, you'd love Harry, not just because they're infinitely alike, but because he was her whole world. She died for her son and you treat him like a piece of dirt! You treat all your students like dirt which is a shame, because quite honestly I think you're the most brilliant potion maker in all of Britain! We—your students—could learn so much from you if you actually _taught_. But I'm getting distracted. Believe me, I know plenty about you. You can be a hero, but you lived and died without proving you can be _good_."

Snape's hand shook. Even if he didn't intend to curse her, Jean wasn't sure she wouldn't get hit by an accidental spell. But slowly, he lowered his wand, and his gaze. He didn't meet her eyes when he curtly answered, "I've only come because the Headmaster, fool he is, mentioned you'd been enlisted to teach Potter Occlumency. What shall you do the first time he turns it back on you and sees his dear old friend?"

As little as Jean wanted to admit it…. that was a very good point. Crap. There were just so many little things she had to keep in her head, so many little precautions to take her and there and, honestly it was_ exhausting_. And impossible too, which was more than a little infuriating. Snape was right, teaching occlumency was dangerous. That was how Harry had learned so much about Snape, after all. If he got into her mind… But no, it wasn't. Harry had seen them in a pensieve because that's where Snape had stored them.

"I can remove them and place them in a pensieve, can I not?"

Snape seemed surprised she knew the option, and perhaps a bit impressed. Jean would have been proud, but she also knew Snape had managed to completely change the subject, and that she didn't really deserve credit for knowing information brought from the future.

"And you are aware how to pull out the sensitive nature of your identity without leaving yourself a sniveling corpse?"

As difficult as it was, Jean was old enough to suck up her pride and just admit she didn't know. "No, but you can show me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because the other option is you teach Harry occlumency, and not only will that be a failure of utter proportions, it would be miserable for you both. You'd rather I teach him, so you'll teach me how to shore up my mind first."

He considered it for longer than was necessary, they both knew it was a more pleasant solution for him than anything else. But finally, he agreed and showed her.

Ultimately, the hardest past of it all was acquiring a pensieve, which made Jean feel slightly foolish. But as Snape left for the evening, casting her an oddly friendly glance, Jean tried not to think too much about it. Even if he was a git, Snape would be a good person to have on her side, and she had to admit, it was relieving to know there was one fewer person she had to hide around. Though she and Professor Dumbledore would definitely be having words about the matter.

For the moment, though, she was distracted by a knock on the door. In walked the three Gryffindor second years, the level of enthusiasm upon their faces vastly different. Hermione was visibly excited for their lesson, no surprise there. Harry was excited too, but you had to know him well to notice. (Luckily Professor Watson did.) Ron was definitely the least excited of the trio. Jean could sense a tentative enthusiasm there. He hoped it might be interesting, but was worried to put too much stock in it.

Frankly, that made it easier for Professor Watson. She didn't know if these lessons would be quite exciting to three twelve-year olds. They'd be important, though.. Very important, for Harry especially. And she was certain that, even on a basic level, he understood that.

"Good evening Professor Watson," Hermione cheerfully greeted. "Thank you so much for taking the time to teach us. I've read all the book you gave us on magical intent and I think it's very interesting. Especially because I asked Professor McGonagall and she was telling me how it would allow you in theory to perform magic for which there isn't even a spell which could have very interesting implications for…"

She blushed and trialed off as Ron gently bumped into her. It was so subtle it would have been hard to miss, but Jean remembered her friends helping her learn how to stop rambling. It had been both a bit cruel and absolutely essential to her growth. They were good for her like that.

The ache in Jean's chest returned, but she pushed it aside, filling the hole with duty. "Well, it certainly is interesting and I can give you a few more articles. Unfortunately, we're not going to work on the Patronus today."

Harry and Hermione did a poor job hiding their disappointment. Ron didn't even try.

"After speaking with Lord Black, we agreed that the basics of occlumency need to come first. Mostly because you can practice this without me, whereas it would be quite dangerous for you to perform advanced spells without supervision. I promise, I'll teach you more spells another time, but this should come first."

"Okay," Harry admitted, smiling softly. "Sirius is the one paying you, after all, so I guess it makes sense to do it his way."

Harry really was just a good kid, wasn't he? All of them were, actually, because they didn't whine at all, despite their obvious disappointment.

"Alright. Did you happen to read the books on occlumency while you were investigating the patronus?"

Even Hermione looked guilty, but Harry shrugged, "Sorta? It didn't really make much sense, but we tried."

Professor Watson sighed. She should have expected that and never given them the option to look as spells as well. She was nowhere near as good a teacher as Harry. He'd whipped the DA into shape within just a few weeks. Jean didn't have a clue how to do it.

But she'd done well with her classes so far, or so she liked to think. With a sigh, she just carried on, "Alright then. Well, have you at least picked what sort of empty thoughts you're going to use as your base defenses?"

The three of them nodded eagerly and Jean sighed in relief. Good. At least they were sort of still on track. "Alright then, we'll go one by one. I want to warn you, though, I'll probably end up seeing rather private thoughts. I'll try not to look, but it is inevitable. So by agreeing to do this you're agreeing to not get upset if I see something you'd rather I didn't.

They all looked very queasy at the thought, but, after a long moment, Harry said, "I don't want you two to do this just for me."

"We're doing it for ourselves, Mate," Ron laughed. "It would be boring if you left us behind because we can't keep the secrets." Then he turned to Professor Watson. "I'll go first. Five older brothers and you don't really have secrets."

Jean was slightly surprised, but she should have known that Ron, even after all these years, could still surprise her. And it made her happy too to see him taking charge and thriving like this. It was good for him, and she just wanted what was good for him.

"Alright, if you're ready?" The boy nodded. "_Legilimens_."

Jean was immediately thrown into an unfamiliar landscape. After a moment, though she realized where she was. It was the hillside between the Burrow and the Lovegoods. In the distance, she could see Ron's childhood home standing tall, awkward as it was.

The landscape was impressive, detailed and easy to wander in. But Jean had a fairly good idea where Ron's memories were hiding. So she slowly made her way towards the Burrow. As she got closer to the site, she could feel Ron trying to wrest back control, push her out. But he couldn't do it, and when she opened the door, she was thrown into a flood of memories.

The mind was an odd place. Jean found herself standing besides a much younger Ron. He was playing with a teddy bear, smiling to himself and trying to show an even younger Ginny. But suddenly the bear shifted, turning into a giant spider. The boy screamed, tossing the item. In the distance Jean could hear the twins' laughter, but before she could see what happened next, she was thrown into a different memory.

Now Ron was a little older, still not school-aged, though. He was standing over a broom, nervously telling it 'up' as Charlie rattled off a string of 'helpful tips' which only served to confuse the boy more.

The image shifted once more—now Jean could see Ron, Harry and Hermione laughing about something in the common room—but she decided to pull out. Ron's resistance was getting weaker, not stronger, and it wouldn't do to stay in his mind all day. Sooner or later she'd see something that would embarrass them both.

When she pulled out, they both panted. Ron looked rather faint too, and was blushing deep crimson. "I'm rather rubbish at that, aren't I?"

"You're empty space was actually quite good, but by making it a real place it's obvious where to go look." Jean cringed internally—she had no reason to know where Ron lived—luckily the boy didn't notice. He was too busy thinking.

"So maybe I make it just the field. Blimey, that's kind of boring, but I guess that's the point."

"Yes indeed it is. Now, why don't you go and get yourself some tea. Harry? Hermione? Who's next?"

To no one's surprise, Hermione didn't want to be left behind. Jean took a moment to recover, then delved into the girl's mind.

For one moment she was standing by the cliffs of Dover, staring out at the vast English channel. But the image was week, flimsy. Jean easily could see a crack in the vision, and pulled it aside, stepping into her own childhood.

Hermione was sitting on the swing set at her primary school, reading "The Tempest" despite her age. Another girl ran up, Molly something—Jean couldn't quite remember—and knocked the book from Hermione's hand. Hermione was so surprised she fell forward, landing hard on the wood-chips meant to protect her. Twenty years later, Jean could still feel the pain, though she'd long forgotten the incident.

Then she felt a slight push, and let herself move on. Suddenly she was sitting in a dark room— a movie theater. For a moment, Jean was confused because everyone seemed to be talking in French. When had she gone to a movie in France? She couldn't remember, which was odd, though the version of Hermione which the memory centered around wasn't that young. Beside her sat their father, whispering translations into Hermione's ear. She'd known enough French not to need them, but her dad wasn't sticking very close to the script, so it was quite amusing.

"But I love you my little, little friend? Won't you just smooch me all night?"

"Shhhhh," littlest-Hermione whispered to her father, wide smile across her face. "That's not what they're saying."

"Not anymore," their father chuckled. "Now she's saying 'Oh shut up, George, you're really just an idiot and we're not even dating. Plus I know you let your dog kiss inside your mouth.'"

The memory shifted, but Jean could feel herself laughing. God, she missed her dad. She'd gotten used to not having her parents during the war, but it was different now, more permanent, and she'd somehow forgotten how much she loved them.

But she couldn't dwell for too long, because she found herself staring at Snape's task, the potion bottle for going ahead before her. And there it was, the vial with just enough for two people…

Jean found herself sitting right back in her office and blinked. "Impressive, Miss Granger. Since this isn't ordinary class time I'm not really supposed to give points, but you did well."

"Not really," the girl could never take a compliment, could she? "You got through my defenses immediately!"

"Yes, well, perhaps the thinking of nothing might be the wrong approach for you," Jean suggested, knowing it was true. It had been the wrong approach for her, after all. "Maybe you need to think more. My shields come across as a giant library with thousands of books. Only I know where to look for the real memories. Try that for next time."

"Like the attic in Sherlock Homes?"

"Yes a bit like that. You can look it up, it's called the Method of Loci. The Greeks invented it."

"Were there ancient Greek wizards? I've never really thought about it, but there must be. And most spells are Latin so there had to have been loads of wizards then and…" Hermione trailed off, getting lost in the churning of her own mind. Jean, confident the girl could figure it out on her own, turned to her most important student.

"Ready, Harry?"

From the way Harry and Ron were sitting, they'd been talking during Hermione's turn. Presumably about what it felt like. Still, Harry seemed nervous as he and Hermione switched seats. "I've really been having a hard time with the empty thing, but I'm not sure I could do the library either."

"Some people just have a more difficult time learning. It usually just means they're an honest person, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. Let's just see what will happen. Ready? _Legilimens_."

Jean knew Harry was poor at Occlumency, but she only realized then just how ill-suited his mind was for it. For a flickering moment, she found herself standing in the middle of an empty quidditch pitch, the wind whistling in her ears. But Harry's mind was already wandering, Jean could feel it, and so she followed along the trickle of fear.

Suddenly, she was standing in the boy's dormitory, and Harry was chatting into his two-way mirror, Sirius smiling at the other side. Jean couldn't hear what either of them were saying, but she could feel the pure joy radiating off Harry.

Then, the image shifted, and Harry's joy was no more. Instead he was sitting on the floor of the owlery, unbothered by the excrements that covered it, or the loud hooting around him. Instead, he was entirely focused on the letter before him. How he could even read it, however, with the tears which brimmed his eyes, Jean didn't know. She could read it though, the handwriting neat and clear: **Well of course we never wanted a freak like you anyways, so you'd best stay away from us, permanently.**

Jean wouldn't have known who the letter was from, except it was connected to a million other memories, none of which were happier than the last. She saw Harry being chased by a bulldog…And then punched in the face by her cousin…Then he was being yelled at by a primary school teacher for cheating and then…

Suddenly Harry was running away from his cousin and two other boys, only to find himself running into his uncle, quite literally. The large man's moustache was the only thing thicker than his knuckles, and he cracked them loudly. Jean had only ever met Vernon Dursley a handful of times, and found him particularly unpleasant each and every one. But suddenly, as she felt Harry's blind fear, she realized he was a great deal more than unpleasant.

Harry couldn't have been older than seven or eight in the memory, and he was far too small. His pants were currently held up by a thick belt, one which, unlike everything else Harry wore, was far too small, digging into his skin as it tried desperately to hold together his baggy clothes. It was by this belt that his uncle grabbed him, lifting Harry solidly into the air. "What do you think you're doing, boy, running in the house like that?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Harry babbled, but it was too late. His uncle dropped him as the other boys came running. Dudley was huffing and puffing from the exertion, but still made the effort to kick Harry where he lay on the floor. With practiced ease, Harry curled up into a ball, but as the other boys joined into the kicking, his uncle did nothing to stop it. No, he just laughed and walked away.

The image shifted, but something about it was all wrong. For one, Jean couldn't see Harry at all. But it was more than that. She was in some kind of dormitory, or perhaps a hospital? Two boys went running by, knee-high socks and suspenders over their shorts. And the radio drifted with tunes far too old for Harry's childhood.

In the corner of the room was a young boy curled in a ball. For a second, Jean thought maybe it was Harry after all; he was too small and his head was covered by a mop of messy black hair. Yet the boy slowly raised his head, and Jean didn't recognize him at all. His face was covered in bruises, and there was a coldness to his gaze that frightened Jean. But then she realized he was sobbing, and her heart just went out to the boy, whoever he was.

It shifted again, back to Harry. He was sitting in a tiny cupboard, the only light filtering through the shafts of the door. Jean could hear the telly outside, and the raucous laughter of the Dursleys. For a moment, she wondered why Harry was sitting in the dark instead of joining them. Then, she realized the door to the cupboard was locked.

Suddenly, she was back in the dormitory, but the boy was much older now, probably fourteen or fifteen. He was leaning against a closet door, twirling a wand in his hand. The doors to the closet rattled, and Jean could make out muffled screaming. The teen seemed unbothered by whoever was trapped within, however. In fact, the only sign he could hear at all was when he rolled his eyes. "This is better than a filthy muggle deserves, you know. When I free my basilisk, I'll send her after you too."

Jean's heart stopped, and her focus broke. Suddenly, she and Harry were both back in her office, breathing heavily. Jean's mind spun with what she'd seen, with what it meant, but Harry's quivering voice interrupted her, "Pro…Professor? Could you, I mean, could you see everything I saw?"

"What?" Jean stammered, trying just to regain her wits. Slowly, though, Harry's words processed. "Oh, yes, I could. I'm sorry, I warned you this may be personal. About your aunt and uncle…"

"It's fake," Harry interrupted, then he blushed, clearly realizing he'd just interrupted his teacher. Still, he didn't back down either. "I mean, what you saw, it's not real. Some of it was, of course, but once I realized you were seeing my thoughts I thought 'Well, if I can't keep her out I'm going to show her things that are fake instead'. That's why we saw the other boy, isn't it? I was actually doing a pretty good job of it, I think. But even the things about me… You don't have to worry about them. They're not real. And besides, I live with Sirius now, so it's not like it would even matter how the Dursleys treated me. And mostly I deserved it, I can be quite antagonizing, you know. But, uh, as I said, it was fake."

Jean sighed. Even if she hadn't known Harry for over a decade, she still wouldn't have believed his childish rambling. Still, she understood why he'd try. The Dursleys had _kept him in a cupboard_? Somehow, it made sense, but was nevertheless horrifying. By God, she'd always known the Dursleys were bad, but this wasn't just bad, this was downright abuse.

And the worst bit? That wasn't even the most concerning thing she'd seen. Because she knew full well that those were not 'fake' memories Harry had conjured to deflect her. If he was telling the truth about that bit, and she thought he was, then he'd only succeeded in showing her _someone else's memories._ Showing her Voldemort's memories.

Merlin's beard, she'd felt pity for Lord Voldemort. And why wouldn't she? He'd been a child too, once. Even if he'd been downright murderous by the time he came to Hogwarts, no one was truly born evil. Harry's childhood misery had connected well to the other tortured soul within his body, and that in-and-of-itself was horrifying.

"Professor?" Harry tentatively asked, shuffling his feet against the ground. "Professor, are you alright?"

No, Jean was decidedly not alright. Unfortunately, she was an adult, so she had no choice but to pretend she was alright, at least until Harry was out of the room. "Yes, Harry, I'm quite alright. I think I should be asking you instead. Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah," he blatantly lied. "I mean, it was a bit more difficult than I imagined, but like I said, I figured I could just trick you with fake memories instead."

Jean sighed. She wanted—desperately—to confront Harry about what she'd seen, to make him admit to what the Dursleys had done and how utterly _wrong_ it all was. But, at the end of the day, it wasn't her place. She wasn't Harry's mother. In this timeline, she wasn't even his friend. She was his teacher, and if she pressed too hard, Harry would no doubt just avoid her, cancel their occlumency lessons, and retreat even further into his distrust of adults. He had Sirius now, both to show him how a proper family behaved, and to deal with the residual trauma. _Though perhaps I can discreetly inform Sirius that this is definitely a matter which needs to be addressed sooner rather than later._

For the moment, Jean had to focus on her job—protecting Harry from the dangers which still awaited him and teach him to protect himself. "Harry, you know how there a certain things I cannot tell you?"

Harry suddenly did not look so pleased with his 'accomplishment'. Instead, he nodded slowly. "Not until I get better at Occlumency. But didn't I just do good focusing on the fake memories?"

"Harry, you mustn't focus on those memories," Jean told him, wishing this was her Harry, that she could just tell him everything, and infinitely grateful that he wasn't, and could be protected a little bit from the harsh truth. "It's not… Well, I will tell you that while some of those memories aren't yours, they're not exactly _fake _either. The magic is complicated and secret, but…Well suffice to say those memories are not ones you wish to explore. They belong to a man who lived a miserable life, and you'll find absolutely nothing good there, do you understand? Promise me, Harry, that you won't try focusing on those memories instead."

Harry looked absolutely devastated, but, much to Jean's relief, he nodded slowly. "Alright, Professor. I promise…But how am I supposed to get better at occlumency if I can't do that? The other stuff doesn't work."

Jean sighed, though she didn't know if it was with exhaustion or relief. "It simply takes practice, Harry. You're twelve years old; no one expects you to be a master occlumens. If picturing something in your head doesn't work, try focusing instead on a repeated phrase. List the twelve uses for dragon blood over and over in your head, or something like that. My husband used to do that."

Though clearly disappointed, Harry didn't hold it against her. Jean decided it was best to get him back to Ron and Hermione anyway. "Come on, let's drink some tea and talk about lighter things. I'm deathly curious by whatever holds as gossip among second years these days."

Harry clearly thought she was kidding, but followed her back to his friends. He was quiet as they all drank their tea and discussed picking electives, which Hermione, naturally, was the only one concerned about so early in the year. Then again, Jean was quiet as well, and that was half the reason the conversation was so stilted.

She didn't blame them when they all finished their tea quickly, and left.


End file.
